Tale of Two Phantoms
by Mystic Lady Fae
Summary: One girl, two Phantoms. One is Erik, prisoner of a magic spell in his quest for love. The other, a cruel man who also wears a mask and lusts for the pleasures of the flesh. Who will win the battle for fair lady's heart? Possibly M later.
1. An Escape to Paris

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to **_Phantom of the Opera_** (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers). See?

AN: Okay, I'm not sure whether this plotline has been done before or not, so please don't get upset if it's too cliché. There will be much more Erik in this story than the previous one, though he will appear in the next chapter instead of this one. I hope that everyone can wait. (grins) Anyway, please read and review to let me know how I'm doing. Thanks!

**Chapter 1: An Escape to Paris: **

'_Wow, Paris looks so different in real life_,' I thought as the taxi took me away from the hotel and towards my first tourist destination.

For so long I had merely stared at postcards, picture books, travel television shows, and the Internet videos of the City of Lights. Now I was here, riding down a French street with a Frenchman for a cab driver who, unfortunately, spoke little English. Also, he was, to my sorrow, fairly rude on just about everything. I'd heard of the legendary rudeness of the French, but now was experiencing it firsthand. Yet, I was very excited, and would not let the muttered words of my cab driver sour my mood. Nothing short of a natural disaster was going to ruin this for me!

'_Well, nothing besides the fact that I'm traveling alone in one of the most romantic cities on Earth_,' I thought before pushing it aside.

I was not going to let depressing thoughts bring me down. I was now living my dream of seeing Paris, and I was not going to let anything stop me from having a good time! After ten years of living in hell with my mother, Heaven had sent me the means of getting out of there while I still could…

* * *

**Six Weeks Prior**:

"Alisa Chapman, you get down here this very minute!"

I winced and set aside the classified ads I had been looking at. '_Time to answer the banshee's call_,' I thought as I raced downstairs.

My mother was waiting in the living room, a large manila envelope on the messy coffee table before her. A frown was on her face, but then, what else was new? Ever since Dad left and took my little brother with him over ten years ago, the frown had become permanently etched on her face. I could count on one hand how many times I'd seen my mother smile a real, honest smile, and not one she merely gave to the public like some sort of cheap mask.

Biting back a sigh, I put on an emotionless face and sat down on the couch, facing my mother. I didn't say a word, since every time I spoke I seemed to make her angry. She also seemed to be in an extremely bad mood over something; therefore, speaking out of turn would only make the whole situation worse, so I merely sat there and put on my "I'm-an-idiot" face. My mother studied me thoroughly and found nothing to complain about as she saw me, the epitome of meekness, sitting there and keeping silent, much like a "good" daughter should. Nodding, she merely pushed her short black hair out of her face and sat up straight, preparing to speak. Inwardly, I winced, knowing that my mom blamed me for all of the individual white hairs that now decorated her head.

"Alisa," my mom began, her black eyes staring down at the envelope before her. "You should know that your grandmother's sister, meaning my aunt, has died recently." She frowned even more. I said nothing, and merely waited for more information or a signal to reply. I received none, so I remained silent as Mother continued talking. "Although you never knew her, my aunt was a very wealthy woman with no children of her own. Since your grandfather left a great amount of money to your grandmother, my aunt had decided to leave all of her money…to you."

I swallowed heavily, but said nor did anything else in reply. Instead, I continued to listen.

The frown on my mother's face deepened. "Apparently, since you're the oldest grandchild, and since you're nearly of legal age, you get to inherit all of her wealth."

Technically, I was 21-years-old as of yesterday. It was no big deal, considering Mother had forgotten my birthday…again. Still, I remained silent, just staring at the envelope. If I said nothing, I wouldn't get yelled at, nor would I get any sort of lecture on "how to obey your mother by staying quiet."

Wordlessly, my mother tossed the envelope into my lap, crossing her arms and glaring at me as soon as I picked it up and opened it. The document inside was pretty basic, and was actually in the form of a letter stating that, since my great-aunt was without children and that her sister (my grandmother) was already well-off in life, I was next in line for the money. The letter also declared that my great-aunt knew my mother's siblings were also financially secure, and clearly wanted me to "have some fun in life," before I grew too jaded by 'adult problems' to enjoy it.

'_Makes sense to me_,' I thought, smiling inwardly. '_I think I would have liked the woman, if I'd met her_.'

However, since the fact that I was inheriting this money made me happy, I knew that my mother would do everything in her power to take all of the joy out of it. She tended to suck all of the fun out of everything, which was why I hadn't had a real birthday cake (much less a party) since I was 12-years-old. Heck, we hadn't even gone on vacation since then, either, and Mom refused to let me spend more than one night at a friend's house.

For all I knew, she had always been this way. It might have even been the reason that my father left us, and why he took my then five-year-old brother with him, probably to spare him from the nightmare that was our mother. I don't know why Dad hadn't taken me, but I figured that it was because I'd already suffered too much to actually be 'saved' by Dad. One night, when I was 10, I watched a fight between my parents. An hour after it was over, Dad just packed up and left. Paul, my little brother, had run up to him, pleading to go, too, and Dad had agreed. Mom and I were left alone in the house, and we haven't seen them since.

How lucky for me to get the mentally twisted parent in the matter. Sophia Chapman, my mother, was _not_ someone you wanted as a parent. Outside our home, she was happy and cheerful to everyone, laughing, joking, teasing her friends and co-workers, but at home, I swear that she was a raving lunatic. She'd yell at me for going grocery shopping behind her back, after I'd discovered that the cabinets and fridge were empty of anything edible. She's slap me if I even suggested that she buy something more than just the basic crackers and bottled water that was on sale at the store. Once she even thrown me out of the house for the night just for using the new shampoo she'd just bought; I'd opened it because I had used all of mine and needed a new bottle, and she'd caught me opening it.

If I had the power to do so, I'd have her committed to an asylum for all of the horrors she'd put me through since Dad left. I did my best to live with it until I had enough money saved up, but with this "gift horse," I could leave much sooner than I had planned. I scanned the other documents, each of which would require my signature in order for me to take possession of the inheritance. The last one nearly made my jaw drop, as it had the sum of the amount I would be getting after the government, the lawyers, and everyone else got their share of the holdings, as well as what the sale of her estate brought in. I had never seen so much money in my life, and now I was going to get all of it, just for me!

'_5 million dollars_?' I thought in awe. '_Wow…what I could do with that sort of money_!'

Part of it would be stored away for emergencies and retirement, of course; I was young, but not stupid when it came to planning for the future! Still, there would be a lot left over for me to spend on whatever I wanted. A house of my own far away from here, for instance…

"Alisa," my mother snapped. "Are you listening to me?"

I wasn't, but I couldn't let her know that. Instead, I kept silent and let her talk.

"I said that you should give me some of your money," Mother demanded, her black eyes boring into my skull.

'_Oh, no…she did not just say that_,' I thought as I stared at her in shock.

But Mom wasn't done yet. "After all, I've fed you, clothed you, sheltered you all by myself ever since your father left, and I deserve something for it," she said. "Where would you have been without me here to support you? Don't you think I should have _something_ for putting up with you?"

There were many places that I could have been sent to if I hadn't been forced to stay with my mother, but I decided to keep quiet. Instead, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I need to think about it," I softly replied while staring at the envelope.

My mother nodded and I was allowed to head upstairs, the envelope tucked securely under my arm. I immediately headed for my bedroom, my sanctuary where I could lock the door and hide from my mother and her horrible words. Sighing, I collapsed onto my bed, closing my eyes in relief. I now had over five million reasons for Mother to be nice to me, and I would have to keep that to my advantage. Now I would be able to have some real peace in my life.

'_Well, she won't be nagging me to look for more work_,' I thought to myself with a smile. '_In fact, she won't be nagging me at all_!'

I quickly sat up and looked at myself in the mirror, frowning as I looked at my reflection. Sometimes, I think that it's my looks that makes Mother so upset with me, mainly that of my hair. Dad had red hair, and I think the red highlights in my own brown locks remind her of him. My dark brown eyes mostly resemble hers, but since they're not black, it probably makes her even more upset. I wasn't petite like Mom, but instead was short at 5'3' and stocky, meaning I had "meat on my bones," like Dad did. I was a mixture of both my parents, but since I was here and Dad wasn't, it was me who got the lectures and screams to 'stop being stupid' and do what she said.

My eyes wondered over to my posters. Fantasy images of fairies, dragons, and celestial goddesses decorated my walls, though there was one spot in which another image all together occupied. That image was that of the Phantom of the Opera. I had spent quite a bit of my babysitting money on that one poster from the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, but it had been worth it! The soundtrack to both the movie and musical currently sat in my iPod and stereo system, and the film was on my wall of DVD's. Mom didn't understand my obsession, but, thankfully, let me go ahead with it.

'_As soon as I get that money, I'm going to go and see that musical for real_,' I thought with a smile. '_I'll go and see Paris, visit the Opera House, and eat real French food_!'

But first, I had better go and see a lawyer about getting my money…

* * *

I shook myself back to the present as the taxi pulled up to my destination. The man turned to look at me with a frown, trying to get me out of his cab as soon as he possibly could. I merely gave him a sincerely happy smile and handed him the fare, as well as a very good tip. The cabby looked surprised at the amount I'd given him, then gave me a smile.

"Have a good evening, _mademoiselle_," he said in heavily-accented English.

"_Merci_," I replied with a smile as I got out of the cab and shut the door behind me.

The man actually tipped his barrette-like hat at me before speeding away down the street, leaving me alone in front of the greatest piece of architecture I'd ever seen.

The Paris Opera House.

* * *

The digital camera I had bought hadn't stopped snapping pictures since I had stepped inside the infamous Opera House. The outside had been stunning, but the inside was incredible!

On first entering the building, I was in awe of the amount of painted art and sculpture that decorated the main hallway. Half-naked muses, gods and goddesses stood everywhere; they lined the walls, the staircase, even the ceiling, almost as though the Opera House was the true home of the divine beings. I was able to film the entire hallway and the bottom of the grand marble stairway just before a security guard came up to me, asking me all sorts of questions in French. Once he figured out from my blank expression that I couldn't understand him, he smiled.

"Ah, an American, are we?" he asked, chuckling at my blush. "Oh, do not fear, _mademoiselle_, I was merely wondering about you filming the entire hallway; most people simply wish to save time by taking the tour." He gestured towards the growing group at the other end of the room.

I blushed even more. "Well, I never was one for going with the crowd," I said, with a small smile as I watched the tour group disappear around a corner. "I was merely taking pictures so that I could print them out and decorate my new apartment back home in America with them. See, I just moved into a new place and don't have much to put on the walls, so I decided to take a trip and get something memorable and beautiful to decorate it with."

The guard eyed me up and down. "Would you like the opinion of a man who has worked here at the Opera House for over ten years?" He grinned at my enthusiastic nodding. "In my humble opinion, it is the auditorium itself that has the best images to capture on film," he said. "Now, since I can see the appreciative light in your pretty eyes, it would be my pleasure to show you inside it."

Once more, a blush colored my cheeks. "Oh, I wouldn't want to get you into trouble," I blurted out, feeling guilty that I might cost this helpful man his job.

The guard only laughed. "Oh, it is no trouble," he said, waving his hand at me. "Now, let us go quickly, before someone comes and discovers us. If you are found in there, pretend that you wondered off from the tour, _oui_?"

I nodded and followed him through a large set of ornately decorated white doors. Red carpeting that was incredibly soft covered the floors, and seats of the same material were all perfectly lined up, waiting for the next performance to be done. Incredibly long strips of red silk embroidered with gold hung between the rows of expensive audience boxes, and as I looked up towards the stage, I saw a large curtain of the same glorious red material cutting off the back stage from the audience. Taking a deep breath, I looked up. Hanging from the domed ceiling was the most magnificent chandelier I had ever seen. There had to be thousands of crystals decorating it, and I could easily see the rainbow reflections gleaming off of it onto the painted mural above it.

A hand reached over and gently pushed my mouth shut. I quickly blushed and glanced over at the amused security guard. "Thank you," I muttered as I got my camera ready.

He chuckled. "No trouble, mademoiselle," he replied with a friendly wink. "Now I must be off. Stay out of the patron boxes; they are expensive to keep and maintain. You may explore the lower floor and the stage, but _do not touch anything_. Okay?"

I nodded quickly, eager to be left alone. The guard smiled and left before I could thank him properly or even get his name. Oh, well, perhaps I'd see him later. Deciding to seize the moment, I opened up my camera and began taking pictures, beginning with the ceiling murals and the chandelier. I then moved to taking images of the stage from the very rear of the auditorium, and the orchestra pit from just above where the conductor stood.

Once I had everything I wanted, I looked around and spotted a small stairway going up to the stage. I knew that I ran the risk of being caught, but I didn't care. I was on an adventure, and since I was a tourist, I could always claim that I didn't know the customs or rules…which I didn't. So, gathering up my courage, I climbed up onto the stage and looked out into the audience.

'_Wow_,' I thought as I looked all around me.

I could have sworn that I was there to perform an opera or even a play. A sudden rush of excitement and joy spread through me, causing me to stand on the tips of my toes and bounce on them in anticipation, almost as though I were actually part of a show's cast. The sight of all of those beautiful seats facing me was a rush of exhilaration, and I felt the need to capture it. So, not wanting to waste the shot, I once again took out my camera and began to snap pictures. After several minutes, I tucked the device away and looked around.

'_So this is where Leroux based the plot for the story_,' I thought with a smile. '_I never thought that I'd actually be able to stand here and see it. It's amazing_!'

I'd never read the books, but the movie had been phenomenal. Since I had first seen it and heard the music, Paris and its Opera House had been one of my destinations. I wanted to see if the tale was true, and so took a little trip to local library. However, after doing a little historical research and comparing Leroux's book to the facts on record regarding the Opera House, I realized that it couldn't have happened. Certain things didn't add up, or dates clashed between the story and history, so therefore, the Phantom's tale had to be a work of fiction. I mean, history and recorded facts don't lie, do they? Nonetheless, the idea of the whole story actually happening still created an aura of fantasy within my head, and I had to find out if it was true or not. But my search for the Phantom could wait…I had another fantasy to live out before I was caught!

Opening my personal travel bag, I took out my iPod and tiny portable speaker, keeping the iPod in my hand and setting the speaker on the stage. After turning on the iPod and setting it up to the correct song, I pressed play, letting the song run through my head, not knowing that I wasn't alone.

* * *

AN: No Erik in this chapter, but he'll definitely be in the next one! Please review and show your support! Thanks! 


	2. Erik

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Phantom of the Opera_**. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Major Erik chapter here! I hope that people like it, but beware: this contains the mention of magic being done! Anyone not comfortable with this needs to keep an open mind while reading, because it's got lots of important information in it about Erik after the fire. Okay? Also, I'm twisting history around to fit my story, so please don't hate me! Thanks, and please review!

**Chapter 2: Erik:**

As he approached one of the secret staff doors to the auditorium, he could hear music being blasted from the stage area. The song was a very familiar one, a song that he had written so long ago and had only just brought it to light a little over twenty years ago. It was hypnotic, powerful, and captivating, just as he hand planned it to be…just as he himself had been, all of those years ago.

"So long ago," he whispered, eerily mimicking one of the songs from his work.

* * *

Indeed, it had started so long ago on a dreary night in Paris. Young Erik had been in his cage, playing with the only toy he'd ever had when the gypsy leader came in, followed by a flock of gawkers composed of men, women, and, to his astonishment, a gaggle of pretty young girls all dressed alike in white dresses and black coats. The gypsy taunted the crowd with a tale about Erik, naming him as the Devil's Child and describing the horrors that lay beneath the coarse sack that was Erik's mask. 

"It is a child with a face so hideous, not even a mother could love it," the man sneered to the little girls, most of whom flinched away as he removed the sack that covered Erik's head.

Screams, jeers, and insults were hurled at him, though they did not hurt as much as the stones did. Words hurt, of course, but after so long, the pain began to dull and it was of no consequence to him. Erik merely closed his eyes in humiliation and endured it, as he had every night since his mother had left him in the hands of the gypsies. For one brief moment, though, he opened his eyes and looked at the crowd, hoping that by doing so, he could make them stop out of pity. It occasionally worked, but not often. Today was one of those exceptions, though not the way he had hoped for.

One girl amongst the others, her fair hair tied back in a white ribbon to match her white dress, looked upon him in sorrow and pity. Compassion was not something that Erik had seen often in his life, but it was welcome when it appeared. He memorized every second of that kind look before the sting of the gypsy's whip made him cry out and shut his eyes in pain. For several moments, pain and fear was all he knew, and when it stopped, the sounds of coins and departing voices and footsteps filled the air. The door to his cage closed, and Erik was left alone with his keeper. He quietly watched as the man counted his coins as he did every night, savoring the sound of wealth before it was all spent on drinks or drugs. Like every night, Erik was left alone in his cage, surrounded by rotting food thrown by the crowd and by filthy straw which had previously decorated the cages of the animals outside.

But tonight would be different than any other night. The look in the eyes of that one girl had given Erik a taste of what he wanted, a taste of what he deserved, and it was intoxicating; to feel something more than pain and fear made him want to feel all of the other emotions he had long been denied, and so, he decided to claim them. That night, he unwound a rope he had hidden within his cage…and strangled the man who was his keeper.

The moments following the murder remained a blur to him the rest of his life. Somehow the young girl he had seen smuggled him out of the gypsy caravan and into the basement chapel of a large and glorious building, which he later learned was the Opera Populaire. That girl had then dragged him to the cellars before leaving him alone for the night. A while later, Erik came to his senses and began exploring the, searching for someplace warm, dry, and free of vermin to spend the night. He'd ended up in the corner of a cellar room with a ratty blanket, a luxury compared to his former cage.

When dawn came, so did the young girl. She introduced herself as Antoinette, and became the first true friend Erik had ever known. She told him of the hidden tunnels and the huge lake that lay beneath their feet, and it was there that he decided to make his home. He found his way into a cavern of at least a dozen cave entrances and began to mark them with chalk so that he would not get lost. Then he found the lake that Antoinette spoken of, as well as the large, open spaces with niches for him to set up the house that he had always dreamed of.

Time passed, and with it emerged Erik's hidden talents. He'd never known that he could actually create things, and yet, from his fingertips emerged so many beautiful creations. Ironic that a man with an ugly face could make such delicate and intricate works of art, but for some reason, it made him feel better, knowing that, although he had killed once, he could rise above that. Music boxes, handmade toys and models, an elaborate bed, and even his own clothing where all made with his own two hands. Even his voice became beautiful, thanks to the music instructions he had found abandoned in a hallway one night. From the books that Antoinette brought him, Erik learned how to read, write, calculate numbers, and so much more. The trapdoors and hidden passageways were all of his own creative patience, and had taken years to make without anyone knowing.

However, all of his materials had to come from somewhere. Erik raided the trash heaps that were created before, during, and after a performance, all for the treasure troves they were. Precious paints, inks, dulled tools that could easily be sharpened again, wood, metal scraps, all of these became his. The marvelous cloths that were deemed inappropriate for performances vanished into thin air, and any stage prop that had a practical use, like a cup or a teapot, was spirited away the moment the doors to the prop rooms were closed. Food that was left too long unattended became his, and there was always plenty of it, given that there were so many dishes made and so few cooks to guard them.

Eventually, material goods were not enough for him. Upon reaching adulthood, Erik began to try and learn as much as possible about the people frequenting the Opera House. Up above his head, people walked about in fashionable clothes and gossiped about money and power, and Erik listened to them all. He quickly learned that money and power were one in the same, and that, if he wanted both, he would have to get them from somewhere…so why not the fools running the Populaire? They already feared that the place was haunted by a ghost, thanks to the things he had been stealing, so why not take it a step further? Soon, notes written in red ink were appearing rapidly on the desks of the Opera House's managers, asking for the staggering monthly sum of 20,000 francs. All of were signed O.G. and a skull seal, causing everyone to call the frightening being The Opera Ghost.

Before a year had gone by, Antoinette had set up an account for him to store his new-found wealth. After that, Erik began ordering his clothing from a shop so that he could spend more time working on his art and music, both of which became as natural to him as breathing. To thank his friend, he paid the now Madame Antoinette Giry a handsome sum for keeping silent about him, as well as for running his errands and collecting his monthly payments. By now, any ordinary person would have been happy with their life of wealth and art, and Erik was, to a point, happy with his situation in life…except for one thing: the need for love, acceptance, and a wife.

Then, one day, Erik discovered the answer to his prayers amongst the books in the Populaire's library. Once he had created a secret door into it, the treasure trove of books was open to him night or day. After sorting through the stacks, he stumbled upon an ancient text that was in an odd language he'd never seen before. Always one for a challenge, Erik smuggled it down to his home and began to decipher it, hoping to unlock its secrets. Months of tireless work yielded something that was something beautiful and unique, something he did not expect: a book of spells…_magic_ spells.

At first, Erik had dismissed it as the ravings of a mad writer, a person who thought that magic was real and could be used as a tool to get what they wanted. However, he had nothing better to do with his time, and so he partook in a random spell that seemed as though it could be useful. The book said it was a spell for fire, creating a flame that could be summoned to even the most rain-soaked wood. Since Erik lived in a cave on a lake, the moisture in the air tended to put out his candles more frequently than he liked; to have a flame that would burn despite the wet air would be useful indeed.

To his amazement, the spell worked. The candles in the cave would light whenever he summoned them to, and would only go out if he blew them out or "waved" them out. After that, Erik began thumbing through the book, searching for other things that might be useful. Most, however, were things he was uninterested in. Some spells were for seeing the past or the future, which Erik dismissed immediately; he could read about the past in a book, and as for the future, he was a man who would like to make his own, not follow a laid-out plan. A few were protection spells for the home against thieves, and these he dismissed as well, since he had spent years perfecting his traps for unwanted visitors. Just when he was about to throw the now-useless volume aside, he found it.

It was a spell to find his true love.

* * *

As a high note of music erupted from the auditorium, Erik shook himself back to the present. '_I must be getting old, getting lost in old memories_,' he thought to himself as he prepared to open the door. 

In truth, he _was_ old…170-years-old, or older, given that he did not know his birth date or year. In these modern times, he'd been forced to choose different days and years as his birthdates for his birth certificates, and that in itself was a difficult thing to achieve. However, money could literally buy everything, and with the vast amount of wealth he had managed to accumulate over the decades, money really was no object.

'_I just wish that blasted spell hadn't backfired_,' Erik thought as he began to turn the knob to the door to the backstage area.

In his desperation to find a woman that would love him despite his face, he had cast a complicated spell that would bring his beloved to him. Three months later, a little girl by the name of Christine Daae was led into the Opera Populaire by his friend, Antoinette Giry. At the time, he hadn't thought much of the girl, but when she began to sing in her lovely voice, all of his doubts flew away.

'_Angel of Music_,' Erik thought with a snort of contempt towards himself.

He had put on that guise in order to try and woo Christine from the moment he'd heard her voice, hoping to mold her into the woman and great singer he knew she could be. Singing lessons guided by him, the "Angel of Music," Erik taught Christine how to improve her talents, and as she grew, Erik knew that she would be a great beauty; a shy, sweet, talented, great beauty for the horrible monster who lived beneath the Opera House.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he paused before the doorway. '_I was a fool_.'

* * *

When Christine had passed her 18th birthday and made her debut in the performance of _Hannibal_, Erik felt that she had been ready to see him. She was grown into her full potential and her luminous beauty, and would therefore be ready to see him, her beloved admirer and teacher. That night, before her childhood sweetheart and friend, Raoul, could take her to an evening dinner, Erik had swept in and whisked her away to his home. The caverns had been lit so that his finest pieces of art were accented, and all of it had been arranged to impress the young woman who gazed at him with adoring eyes. In the enchanting light of his home, Erik used his voice to show how glorious his world could be if she simply gave in to the darkness and to their inevitable love. She had fainted at the sight of her created image in the wedding gown, and he had laid her down in the bed he had made for her. A few hours later, it had all fallen apart: Christine had awoken and, in a fit of curiosity, removed his mask. His heart had broken as she cowered away in fear, her hands shaky as she returned the mask to him. Deep down, he should have known that Christine was not the love he was waiting for, but had convinced himself that she merely needed to spend more time with him in order to truly see her love for him. 

After releasing Christine back into Madame Giry's hands in time for _Il Muto_, the pursuit had begun. He sent demands for Christine to become the new Prima Donna, as Carlotta was far past her prime. When the foolish managers had disobeyed, it was Carlotta and Joseph Bouquet who paid the price for their incompetence. To show Christine his love, Erik had begun writing _Don Juan Triumphant_ after discovering her with her precious Raoul on the roof of Populaire. His appearance at the New Year's Eve Masquerade had been a success, and the opera had been performed, all according to plan.

In the end, it had all been in vain. The Opera House was in ruins, Christine was crying, and Raoul looked like a defeated, beaten puppy as he stood tied to the gates leading to the Phantom's home. Erik could feel failure and loneliness swell up in him as he realized that Christine was not the one he had asked for. Reluctantly, he had released the two young lovers, turning his back to them as they faded away into the caves. In his despair, Erik had been ready to end his meaningless life with a bullet to the head when a voice commanded him to put down his weapon.

In his surprise, Erik had dropped the pistol and looked around, wondering if he had truly gone mad this time. There was no one there and nothing out of the ordinary, but the voice was so powerful, it reached right down to his bones, causing him to collapse to his knees.

**_You will not die in this manner, nor will you die alone and in despair. Your beloved will come, but are you willing to wait for her?_**

Erik had nodded in reply, his eyes searching for the source of the voice.

**_Then live, Erik Garnier, until your spell is complete. Magic is not to be used lightly, and the spell you cast is powerful enough to cross distances you never dreamed of. Your beloved comes to Paris from a time and place far away from here, and the spell requires you to live until you find her. The price you must pay to meet the other half of your heart is this: you cannot die, either from old age or from wounds. Take the funds you have gathered and live well and honestly, until the day your heart sees its mate._**

Then the voice had disappeared, and Erik was left to himself.

* * *

Since that night, Erik tried to become an honest man. After Madame Giry had forgiven him for what he had done, she had helped to set him up in his own house outside of Paris. It had formerly belonged to a noble, but the man no longer enjoyed the pleasures of France, and had gone off to the prospects of America. Once comfortably settled in his new abode, Erik had settled down to compose new pieces of music. He was no fool, and he knew that the funds he had extorted from the Opera House would not last forever, despite it being a very large amount. Since he was a recluse, composing pieces from his home and selling them for money would have to be his form of employment. 

Unfortunately, no one seemed interested in the musical works he had to offer. Most thought that the pieces were too dark or too inappropriate to be put into production, and had simply been returned to him through the mail. Discouraged, but by no means defeated, Erik had fallen back on a different means to earn a living, mainly that of architecture. To his astonishment, his designs became quite popular amongst the wealthy, and he was able to double his bank account within a few years. When he felt rich enough to not have to work for quite some time, he vanished, locking himself away from the world. He turned his attention back towards his music and crafting art pieces for his home.

Until the day she died in 1921, Madame Giry was able to help Erik disappear and reappear at will, her efforts always well-rewarded. Once she was gone, however, Erik had been forced to rely on her daughter, Meg, and her grandchildren before being able to do so without any sort of aid. Thankfully, after the last Giry grandchild had married and had children of her own, Erik was able to operate his own disappearing-reappearing scheme without help. Since architects were always in need, Erik was able to put his reclusive self and skills to good use whenever his funds ran low.

In 1980, Erik had emerged in another incarnation of himself, appearing just in time to meet an English composer named Andrew Lloyd Webber. The man had come to France researching the legendary Phantom of the Opera, intent on making it into what was modernly known as a "musical." As it so happened, Erik had a story to tell him, one that was far more truthful than the nonsense written by that author Leroux and the people of the French newspapers.

During the 1900's, Leroux had stumbled upon old tales about Erik's time as the Phantom; the unfortunate result had been a completely false tale about the Opera House events. Erik had come across the published work on one of his trips to a bookstore, and had been furious at the falsehoods on his age, his deformity, and the way poor Christine had been portrayed as an empty-headed twit. Nor did he approve of the scandalous thought that a child had resulted from an event that had never happened! After reading that tripe and cursing the name of the author repeatedly, Erik had vowed that people would know the truth about what had happened at the Populaire. Now his chance had come.

Erik and Andrew had met at the rebuilt Populaire, now named the Paris Opera House. Erik had not set foot anywhere near that part of Paris since the fire, preferring his country estate outside the city or his house in London, which he had purchased in the 1920's. That particular day, however, something told him to go to Paris and to the place where it had all began. Sure enough, he had stepped foot inside the immense building, bumped right into the clever Englishman, and the two began talking. Andrew explained that he needed inspiration on the matter of the Phantom, and Erik 'happened' to mention that he had already done such research on the Ghost himself. Needless to say, Andrew made quick work of becoming friends with Erik, and the two quickly put their heads together.

As a man who had lived longer than mortals should, Erik knew that he would never be believed if he admitted to being the real Phantom. In the end, he decided to "suggest" to Andrew how to make the music sound in the production, gradually making the notes and lyrics sound like the songs that Erik himself had written over one hundred years ago for Christine. His partner was thrilled, and the two quickly threw together a script written around the songs that Erik had created. They even agreed to let Andrew's then-wife, Sarah Brightman, have the role of Christine. However, there was one problem with the piece: neither man knew how to end the story. Erik could not tell the truth, and he certainly did not want people to know what had happened after he had fled the burning building and his cavern home. Also, Andrew didn't like the fact that the poor Phantom might have died alone in the house on the lake, alone and unloved, and did not want the audience to leave the theater depressed about the Phantom's fate. Finally, both decided to end it with the disappearance of the Phantom and the finding of his mask in the cave.

Never in Erik's wildest dreams had he dreamed of the production being so popular. He had given Andrew all of the credit for its creation, but his partner generously gave him half of the profits brought in through ticket sales and the memorabilia sold during and after the performances. That had been over twenty years ago, and Erik hadn't had to work another day in his life since then. Deciding to splurge a bit on something that he longed to own, Erik spent a sizable amount of his money by purchasing his former home…namely that of the Paris Opera House.

* * *

The music coming from the auditorium ended, and Erik snapped out of the daze he had been in; songs from the musical about his life always tended to make him lost in memories he longed to forget. 

'_Not even money could make me forget my life, or my face_,' he thought, pushing the door open slightly to see inside.

So many years of watching the world change, and still it did not welcome him with open arms. Each time he had emerged in a new identity, many people shunned him because of his mask, forcing him to eventually retreat back into the shadows of one of his homes. In London or Paris, it was all the same: women feared or were disgusted by the fact that he wore a mask, many turning away in disgust or merely spending time with him due to pity or a sick curiosity of what might lay behind the mask. The only ones who showed even the faintest interest in him only did so after learning about how much money he had in the bank.

'_And it was one of those greedy little fools that told me to get that new thing called plastic surgery_.' Just the idea of a knife touching his face made him wince. '_No, I will have a woman love me as I am, or not at all! True love endures ugliness and sees beyond money; I have no use for a mistress, nor someone who is interested in bedding a masked man for one night_!'

He took a step inside and looked around backstage. No one was there, but he could hear the start of the overture for the Phantom of the Opera song starting.

'_Another obsessed fanatic_,' he thought in annoyance. '_Far too many of those around here for my taste; the little things are always around, chattering and giggling. The guards chase them off, but this one must be special to be let in here…unless the guard didn't know about her getting in here…_'

Erik took another step towards the curtain that separated the rear of the stage from the audience chamber. The song was coming to an end, and another would soon start up again, covering his footsteps so that he could surprise the "phantom fanatic" and tell her (they were rarely men) to leave. A smirk pulled at his lips, reminding him of the glorious days where he used to scare the daylights out of the chorus girls and tiny ballerinas.

'_Perhaps it is time for me to re-sharpen those skills_,' he thought as he slowly pushed the curtain aside and peeked through.

There stood a young woman of small stature, the top of her head barely coming up to the middle of Erik's chest. She had long brown hair that sparkled with red, and was wearing a simple outfit of blue jeans, a red blouse, black running shoes, and a large canvas traveling bag. Beside her on the floor was a speaker connected to an iPod which sat in her hand, both of which were the sources of the music floating through the air. She didn't seem to be moving, so Erik decided to slide up next to her and startle her in his nearly-lost style of the Phantom.

His plan was in vain, though, for as he looked at her profile, he saw that her eyes were closed. A small smile was on her lips, and she appeared to be lost in a dream or fantasy. In spite of himself, Erik found himself feeling curious about this girl, and positioned himself so that he could look at her face. The moment he laid eyes on her, his heart seemed to stop in his chest. He then realized that he had found what he had been waiting for all his life.

* * *

AN: How was that? Long and lots of explanations, but hopefully it worked out okay. I hope I didn't forget anything. Review! 


	3. Meeting Fate

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to **_Phantom of the Opera_** (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers). See?

AN: Erik sings in this chapter, which should make a lot of people (including the authoress) very happy. I hope that this isn't too sappy, either, because I know too much of the stuff tends to ruin a story. Please let me know your opinions in a review! Thanks, and enjoy!

**Chapter 3: Meeting Fate:**

As the notes for the **_Phantom of the Opera_** song began, I closed my eyes and let myself get lost in its magic. It was one of my favorite songs on the soundtrack, and I always imagined it was me being led down into the dark caverns instead of Christine. I would always picture the Phantom taking my hand and singing only to me, his voice strong and powerful as he took me to his house on the lake. A sigh escaped my lips as I pictured Erik's hands slipping around my waist, helping me into his gondola as he began his part of the duet.

"**_Sing once again with me, our strange duet_**," a voice commanded from beside me, bold and incredibly beautiful.

My eyes flew open as I realized that the voice was _not_ part of the soundtrack.

"**_My power over you…grows stronger yet_**," the voice sang from behind my back, moving right to left. I turned to my right, hoping to see who was singing, but strong fingers on my shoulders stopped me in my tracks. "**_And though you turn from me, to glance behind…the Phantom of the Opera is there…inside your mind_**."

I could feel my heart stop in my chest as his part ended and Christine's began. I felt a bit depressed, knowing that I couldn't sing her part, but I could feel my lips moving in syncopation with the words, responding to his irresistible call. As the two of us joined into the duet, the mysterious stranger actually singing the words to me and me lip-synching back to him, my heart began to pound. For a moment, I was ready to do anything this man asked of me, even if it was to jump off of the stage and into the orchestra pit, breaking every bone in my body in the process. Finally, he released my shoulders, just as he began commanding for Christine, his Angel of Music, to sing. No sound escaped my lips as I turned around, my nose colliding with a broad chest.

I blinked in surprise before glancing up…straight into a white half-mask.

* * *

Erik didn't know why he had joined into the song that way; one moment he had been watching this beautiful woman savor his music, and the next, he had felt the need to join into the male half of the duet. Apparently, she could not sing the female part, but he didn't care; he just wanted to sing _to her_. 

A century ago, he had written this song for his beloved, his fated bride, intending for her to sing it or hear it sung to her on their wedding day. At first, Erik had thought that it had been meant for Christine's angelic voice, and so had pressured her to perform it for him upon her first visit to his lair. When she had left him alone in his darkness, gliding off into the distance with her precious Raoul, Erik had tucked the song away, never again intending it to be performed. However, he had decided to bring it out to be put into Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical about his life as the Phantom, praying that, someday, the other half of his heart would hear it and come to him.

And so it had. Before him stood the proof of his efforts, gazing up at him with awe.

Soon, the song ended, and before the next one began, Erik reached out and turned off the music player in her hands. Instead, he parted his lips and began another song that he himself had not sung for nearly 130 years.

* * *

I thought I would die from heart failure and pleasure overload when the masked man began singing **_Music of the Night_**, sans instrumentals. Green eyes bore into my brown ones, the incredibly tall man before me singing with such intense passion and force that it nearly drove me to my knees. As he took my hands in his, leading me as he sang, my body obeyed him without question, almost as if it were under his complete power. As he continued singing, I could see the emotional toil in his eyes. 

"**_Let your mind start to journey through a strange new world! Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before_**!" he sang. "**_Let your soul take you where you long to be_**…"

The last note rang out across the chamber as my entire body froze where it stood, waiting for his next word.

"**_Only then…can you belong…to me_**."

My world went dark.

* * *

He caught her just as she fainted into his arms, much like Christine had all those years ago. However, this time it was different; instead of fainting from fright, this Angel had likely fainted from the power he wielded with his voice, a power he had not intended to use. 

"Forgive me, my darling," he whispered to her as he pulled her into his arms, careful to remove the delicate music player from her hands and setting it beside the nearby speaker.

Once he was sure she was free of any hindrances, Erik lifted his precious burden and carried her backstage to where he knew a lounging couch sat, waiting for the next performance. Carefully, he set her upon the red velvet cushions, laying her head down last of all, both hands treating it like the fragile thing it was. After she was securely on the couch, Erik fell to his knees beside her, caressing her face and attempting to see that she was breathing properly.

Never before had someone fainted from the power of his music, and yet here lay a woman who had become so entranced with his creations and his voice that she had fallen into his arms. She would likely be embarrassed when she awoke, but Erik intended to do everything in his power to make her feel comfortable in his presence. People today were slightly more tolerant of the deformed, but he would not take the risk of frightening her before they had officially met.

'_Then, after we are introduced, I will come to know her_,' he thought as his fingers wound their way through her glittering brown tresses. '_And she…she will come to know **me**_.'

* * *

As I drifted dreamily through my mind, confused by what had just happened, I felt gentle fingers running through my hair and heard a voice humming softly from above me. At first, I thought that perhaps I had died and was now in Heaven, but the painful cramp that abruptly shot through my shoulder convinced me otherwise, and I couldn't hold back a groan of pain. 

"_Mon Dieu_, are you alright, _cherie_?" asked a concerned voice as the fingers stopped their movements and reached for my own hands.

I let my eyes open slowly and found myself staring into familiar, intense green orbs. I let my gaze travel over a very finely chiseled male face, his dark hair practically glowing in the lights above the stage. The man had an incredibly profound presence, though he didn't appear to know it. Strong, gentle fingers clamped onto mine and pulled them up towards his mouth, where he proceeded to give them the traditional French greeting of a kiss on the hand. I found myself staring at his lips as they softly pressed against the skin of my hand, feeling like warm, velvet flower petals. I opened my mouth to speak, but lost the ability as soon as he smiled at me.

'_Oh, my God_,' I thought, staring at him in awe as I prepared to swoon.

"It would please me very much to know the name of the angel before me," the strange man said, keeping his voice soft and soothing.

"Um," I said, staring into his eyes. "I'm…Alisa…Alisa Chapman."

"Alisa," he repeated, though it sounded like a sigh. "A lovely name for a lovely girl."

I blushed. "Thank you."

The stranger shifted, and I could see that he was kneeling beside me, resting on the floor next to the expensive-looking couch that I was currently lying on. Feeling horrible about making him take an uncomfortable position, I sat up, turning my body to the right so that I could see him better.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you kneel down like that," I apologized as I swung my legs over the right side of the couch.

Gently, the man grasped my fingers and stood up, helping me to my own feet in the process. Once I was fully upright, I reluctantly pulled my hands free and began to awkwardly dust myself off, staring down at the ground as I did so. After I was done straightening my clothes, I glanced up at him from beneath my eyelashes. He hadn't moved an inch, and was still staring at me with such intensity that I couldn't hold back the blush running through my cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't even know your name," I said, still not making eye contact.

"Forgive me," he said. "My name is Erik…Erik Garnier."

I looked up at him and gave a shy smile. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Garnier," I commented, holding my right hand out for him to shake.

He took my hand, but instead of shaking it, he bent forwards and kissed it again, just like he had before. "_Enchante_, _mademoiselle_," Erik replied with a purr in his voice.

"Oh, um…" A deliciously cold shiver went down my spine as I listened to the sound of his voice. If it were possible, I'd listen to him talk to me forever. "Thank you."

Holding my breath, I waited for him to speak again.

* * *

Erik could feel a smirk appear as he straightened to his full height. The young woman before him, Alisa, appeared to be trapped between being uncomfortably shy and being in a trance. Her luscious brown eyes were wide as she stared up at him, and her lips were parted in awe. However, he could sense that she was shy and inexperienced when it came to speaking to men. 

'_As I tend to be inexperienced when it comes to speaking to beautiful young women_,' he thought as he looked her up and down. '_Hmm, a beautiful **American** woman, judging by her accent._'

Alisa was not tall, the top of her head ending where the tip of his collarbone was, but she was just about the perfect height for him to wrap his arms around without any difficulty of bending over. Her body was what could only be called 'curvaceous,' meaning that although she was small, she also bore the full curves that all men one hundred years earlier, primarily during Erik's previous lifetime, lusted for. Privately, Erik was glad that he would not have to treat her like a fragile thing, preferring to enjoy the ripe magnificence that she had to offer him instead.

'_She's not like those ghastly stick-figures that women try to be like today_,' he thought as he gave her an appreciative glance. '_The modern supermodels look horrible and sickly, but Alisa looks deliciously healthy._' This was quite true, as her skin and hair were glowing in the bright stagelights

"I take it you enjoy the music from the stage performance?" he asked, amused as Alisa's eyes went blank in confusion. "Or do you prefer the music from the **_Phantom of the Opera_** film?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, looking at her feet in embarrassment. "Actually, I enjoy the soundtracks from both the film and the stage versions; they're so beautiful and so powerful at the same time." She blushed right under his eyes. "I've never seen the play, but I've always wanted to hear it in an auditorium; I didn't think that anyone would mind if I played it here on the sage of the Opera House."

Suddenly, Alisa's eyes widened and she seemed to pale, as though she had just realized something important or frightening. Concerned, Erik reached out and grabbed her shoulders, supporting her in case she fainted again.

"The Opera House…the Opera Garnier…" She glanced up at him in horror. "You must be the owner of the Opera House if your last name is Garnier! I've read about you in the papers back home!"

He couldn't hold back a smile. "Yes, I am the owner, though I'm afraid I am not related to the creator or builder of the Opera House. I merely have the same last name and own the building."

It was true. Erik had thought it funny that he bore the same surname and occupation as Charles Garnier, the man who had rebuilt the Paris Opera House; it was even more amusing when he was often mistaken as the man's descendant. As much as he wished that it had been he who'd had the privilege of rebuilding and decorating the former Populaire, regretfully, that right belonged to Charles. However, after looking deeper into the Opera House's construction plans, Erik was thrilled to see that the architect had left the original foundation and secret passageways intact, though they were now mostly blocked off to prevent thieves and the homeless from taking up residence.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Alisa said, blushing. "I didn't realize…"

"Think nothing of it," Erik replied, his fingers creating a soothing rubbing motion on her shoulders. "Are you alright now? You gave me quite the fright when you fainted earlier."

Alisa turned even redder. "Well, I'm afraid that I have to apologize for that, too," she said. "I've never fainted before. It's just…your voice is so _beautiful_, and you sang the song so well…I sort of just got caught up in the moment of listening to you."

Inside his heart, Erik felt a swelling of pride and joy that he had never felt before. He had been proud of _Don Juan_, of the architecture he had produced, and of the musical of his life story that had provided entertainment for millions around the world, but _this_! This was an emotion that he had never truly experienced in his life! Not even with Christine had he felt this way before!

'_She loves my voice and my music_,' he thought as his heart leaped in his chest.

Christine had grown to fear him and everything that he had created for her. The people in the Populaire had feared him because of the power he had over them. Madame Giry had begun to fear him during the events he had put into motion during his attempts to woo Christine. Even today, people feared him because of what possibly lay behind the mask.

'_But here stands a woman who stares at me in awe and wonder, a woman who faints at the power of my voice but doesn't call me an Angel, instead seeing me as a man_.' Erik felt his heart swell inside him. '_This is a woman who can see me…for **me**_.'

This was no child in a woman's body like Christine was; this was a true woman, intelligence and appreciation filling her eyes as she gazed shyly up at him from under her eyelashes. She would not turn and hide as he sang to her, she would let herself fly to wherever his music took her, savoring each and every moment of it without question. He could not let such a woman pass out of his life.

"Would you…join me for dinner this evening, my dear?" Erik felt himself asking before he could stop himself.

* * *

I could feel my jaw drop at his invitation. This amazingly handsome, talented, and possibly very wealthy, man wanted me to have dinner with him? 

'_I'm dreaming_,' I thought to myself. '_There is no way this can be happening_.'

My mother had never allowed me to go on dates in high school, claiming that boys would distract me from my studies. She had used this argument when I went to college, too, going so far as to keep me living at home and forcing me to live on a strict schedule. My mother had even memorized my classes so that I always came home on time, and had to call if I was going to be even a _minute_ late.

'_Mother would loose her mind if she knew about this_,' I thought. Then again…my mother wasn't here, now, was she?

I gazed up into Erik's eyes and smiled.

* * *

"I'd love to," Alisa replied with a smile. 

Inside of him, Erik felt something click into place as he helped her pick up her belongings and store them in her bag before offering his arm. "Then let us be off, shall we? I am anxious to show you a true French meal in a restaurant close by."

Alisa placed her hand through his arm and rested it on the crook of his elbow, smiling as she did so.

* * *

As the two people slipped off of the stage and exited the auditorium, a shadowy figure watched them disappear through the double doors. Frowning behind his mask, the figure pulled his hat over his eyes and vanished into the darkness with a swirl of his cloak.

* * *

AN: Oh, can you _feel_ the creepiness? Hmm, I wonder what will happen next. Review! 


	4. Watching from the Darkness

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Phantom of the Opera_**. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Here he is, the other Phantom! No, it's not some strange crazy-man dressing up like Erik; it's a completely different guy with a deformity. Unfortunately, he's not a nice person, thus his mean thoughts and dislike for everyone, including phans. They aren't my opinions about phans, considering I _am_ one, but consider his POV for a moment on the whole thing. For more information on the new Phantom (in case I forgot something), please leave a review once you're finished. Thanks!

**Chapter 4: Watching From the Darkness**:

For longer than he cared to remember, he had lived beneath the glory of the Opera House. While many moved through its marble-and-gold ballrooms and galleries, he had lived underneath it, savoring the darkness of the caverns and the peace that it brought. He had suffered only a few years in the light, after his parents had brought him out into the sun to experience what other children did. The other children had laughed, screamed, and thrown their toys at him to make him leave them alone.

"Damon," he parents had called him upon birth, naming him dramatically for the dark night that he had been born. "Monster," was what the other children had called him upon seeing his face at the playground. Since then, he rarely called himself by his birth name, or any name at all. He kept out of the light and staying in the darkness; the shadows and peace were bliss and all he could ever want.

Today, though, something had brought him up from the darkness. He hadn't seen the audience chamber in well over three years, and it was about time he did so, before he forgot that there was beauty in the world that did not shun him the way people did. The actual theater part of the Opera House was also a place for peace when there wasn't a show being performed or rehearsals going on. Thanks to the listening devices he had installed in the manager's office, he always knew the schedules and could therefore come up and enjoy the artistic atmosphere without the risk of being caught.

He had thought to merely stay there for a few moments, to look around before going back to his underground home to work on another dark symphony. The gift of music had been something his father had given him, encouraged in it by both his mother and father before they had perished in a car accident many years ago, right before his 13th birthday. An unlucky number, 13, and was doubly so, since it had taken away the only two people in the world who had loved him; not even his grandparents, the ones who had been left to take care of him, loved him. They had only taken him in because of the money his parents left him, appearing to be good people until he refused to let them "manage" his money until he was of age.

Cast out of his grandparents' home the same day he had arrived there, he had made his way to the Opera House, intent on finding the basements that he had read and heard about. His father had told him that their forefather, Charles Garnier, had built the Opera House, and had said in his journals that beneath it lay an underground labyrinth of caverns and caves, most large enough to house a man. Great-grandfather Charles had also mentioned that a man, a man with a hideous face, really had once lived there, calling himself the Phantom of the Opera, or the Opera Ghost. Of course, the Ghost was long gone, but the caves still remained, open for the taking as no one wanted to actually go down there and change anything to them.

Keeping that story in mind, he had made his way to the Opera House and snuck in, thinking that, if one man over a century before had lived there with little difficulty, then it could be done again. After hours of searching and encountering numerous traps that had fallen apart over time, he had finally located the caverns he had been searching for. There were many pieces of rotting furniture, cloths, and even an old organ, all indicating that someone had, in fact, lived there. This gave him hope, and, since no one was obviously going to challenge him in living here, he decided to clean out the place and set up his own place in the world.

It took quite a while to clean the space out, but he managed to do it. Besides, the physical stress of it kept him busy, and he had always been strong, even as a child. He could have easily used the inheritance his parents had left him to hire someone else to do it, but being able to use his hands for something proved to help make him stronger than he had been before. It took weeks, probably months, since he lost all sense of time down there, but it had been worth it. The place was completely empty of all of the rotting debris, and after spending a good sum of money planning for a secret weekly food delivery and purchasing new furniture to move down there himself, the place was worthy of dwelling in, if only for a while.

However, a few things were lacking. He desperately wanted a bathroom with a toilet that flushed, and after finding the designs on the Internet on how to do it himself, he managed to get one up and running through trial-and-error. Electricity was another matter, but after purchasing a good-sized generator and installing it in the caves, he was able to hang lights and have constant light to see by. A dehumidifier was purchased as well, and with it, he managed to keep the dampness from destroying the music he managed to create with the organ he had restored with his own two hands.

Today he had hoped to take a short break from his routine of composing dark workings in either rock or classical music. The organ was a sort of release, but so was the electric guitar he had sitting beside it in the main room. However, there were days when both of them could do nothing for him, and it was during these days that he visited the world above for inspiration or to just let his thoughts go for a little while. Instead of finding relief and peace, though, he discovered something else entirely.

After taking his place in the space of Box 5, he watched as a young woman emerged through a door, a security guard on her right as he led her inside the chamber. Amazingly, she was allowed to remain alone in the theater and explore it at will, her head twisting and turning as she stared at the ceiling, the chandelier, and the patron boxes, snapping photographs as she went. He made certain to remain hidden, as he had an aversion for cameras of any sort. Eventually, the girl headed for the stage, using a side stairway to get on top of it and taking center stage, her camera going off every few moments. When she stood in the center, she opened her travel bag and produced a portable music player and a speaker. Hooking both of them up, she set the speaker on the stage floor before staring out into the audience and pushing play on the music player.

To his displeasure, the music from the **_Phantom of the Opera_** spilled from the speaker and into his ears. That music had been a constant pain in his side for years, and he was amazed that the guard had let the girl in here when she was who she was. He knew for a fact that Phantom admirers, or 'phans' as they called themselves, had become a problem in the Opera House in recent times. In fact, the problem had emerged just after he had moved in twenty years ago, which happened to be when that musical about the Phantom had come out. Not long after that, he had noticed more voices above, all of them chattering with various staff members about whether people truly thought the Phantom had really existed or was merely a story created by an author and, later, a composer. Considering the fact that his home had once belonged to someone else, most likely the Phantom himself, there was no doubt that the legends were true. However, _he_ was not going to tell anyone else that!

At first, the trickle of 'phans' had been small, but as time progressed, more and more came to the Opera House, and more and more desired to see the hidden caverns. For the most part, the managers refused to put people's lives in danger, considering the slippery floors, rodents, and spiders living in most of the caves. He had taken the Phantom's former cavern, one that could easily be isolated from the rest, and had set up stone doorways to confuse and deter 'phans' from finding his home. The huge iron gate that had once been in place had been removed and another put in its place, which was also covered in a thin layer of stone to look like the end of a channel.

Watching the girl, he had been ready to leave when he realized that her eyes were closed, apparently lost in the music that was playing. The girl had been playing the soundtrack for only a few moments, but she looked lost in a dream. From her posture, he could see that she was blissfully unaware of anyone or anything except the songs emerging from the speaker. It was enchanting to watch her for some reason, and he liked the fact that she wasn't squealing with excitement or pleasure from the fact that she was, to quote most of them, "_here_ in the Opera House, oh, my _God_!"

No, this young woman, not an empty-headed phan-girl; she truly appreciated the Opera House and the music she was listening to. It was that appreciation for music that attracted him to her. Most girls played the music and got a dreamy look on their faces as they imagined themselves in the storyline of the musical, book, or, later on, the film. It drove him mad sometimes, and he was thankful when the newest owner of the Opera House had ordered the guards to "kindly escort" the more annoy phans out to the lobby to make their noises and act out their fantasies.

However, this woman was pleasant to watch. She was quite pretty, with long brown hair and a curvaceous figure that was quite lush to look at. Oh, she was no exquisite beauty like some of the girls that drifted through the Opera House, but she had a spark inside of her, a joy for life and fun that he had seen in very few others. Her face had a sort of pureness in its expression, meaning that her spirit was free of the cold jadedness that so many others bore. She was a rarity on Earth, a person whose expression told what her heart was feeling without putting on a fake one to cover up what she was really thinking.

And so he watched her, observed what she was feeling as she listened to the music surrounding her. Joy, pain, longing, all of these emotions crossed her face as the music played, as though she were living someone else's life. For some reason, it intrigued him to watch such feelings flow through another human being, and he very much wished to end his self-inflicted isolation and speak to her. But before he could, someone else beat him to it. From behind the red curtain emerged a man with half a mask on the right side of his face!

Never before had he seen another person in a mask, except for in books or paintings he brought down to decorate his home. He himself wore a mask, but only because it made him feel safe to have it on. The only people who had seen him without it had been his parents, and they were long dead; since then, he'd worn it of his own choosing. It was his own preference to see his masked face to his bare one in the mirrors of his house; the only time his face was revealed was in order to help him to write the twisted music that came from his mind. But this…this was the first time he had ever seen another human being wear such a device willingly and casually!

The stranger startled the girl by jumping directly into the middle of the title song of the musical, his beautiful voice taking on the part of the Phantom in the **_Phantom of the Opera_** song. Her eyes opened in surprise as she stared at the man on stage as he sang to her, his voice enchanting her to the point of hypnosis. She followed him with her eyes, and once the song was over, the stranger reached out and turned off the music player. Then he began singing **_Music of the Night_**. Watching the man with envy, Damon scowled as his rival wooed the woman he had his sights on. The stranger's voice rose to a crescendo, his voice ringing out across the audience chamber and echoing back to its origin, the note ending just before he whispered something that caused the girl to faint into his arms.

A murderous fire formed in his chest, the need to race onto the stage and destroy his rival almost overpowering him. To his dismay, his beloved was carried backstage out of sight, the red curtain blocking his view of what was happening. Biting back a curse, he frantically thought of what he should do next. Should he wait for them? She might wake soon, or she might wake later. It was a hard decision, but he resolved to use the secret passageways that he had discovered and reopened. They had previously been locked and sealed up to prevent thieves and such from entering and robbing the Opera House, but now they were his to use. Slipping through the hidden doorway of Box 5, he raced backstage to see what was being done, tucking himself into the darkness of the rafters to keep out of sight while he watched. He posed himself directly above the heads of the ones he was looking for, focusing hard to hear what was being said as well.

To his horror, his lady awakened and was soon smiling up at the stranger who had caused her to loose consciousness. The masked man, in turn, was hovering over her side, his hands caressing hers in a loving manner.

"It would please me very much to know the name of the angel before me," the strange man said, keeping his voice soft and soothing.

"Um," the girl said, staring into his eyes. "I'm…Alisa Chapman."

"Alisa," the stranger repeated, though it sounded like a sigh. "A lovely name for a lovely girl."

A lovely name, indeed, and a very useful one to know. At least now he knew the name of the one who possessed his heart. The difficult part would be to get her to look at him without fear, disgust, or hatred. Still, if this lovely girl named Alisa was looking at this stranger with kindness and understanding, then having her get to know another disfigured man would likely have little difficulty.

For another few moments, he stood above them, listening to them talk in voices too soft to hear from his position. He watched as Alisa smiled up at the other man before crying out in dismay at discovering who the man who had sung to her was; the information nearly making this hidden observer fall off of his perch above their heads.

The man currently sitting below him was none other than Erik Garnier, owner, patron, and genius manager of the Paris Opera House. Everyone knew who Monsieur Garnier was; he was wealthy beyond comprehension, well-respected, and had hoards of women drooling after him and his money. Damon had moved in not long after Garnier had purchased the Opera House; he also always bought a newspaper along with his food deliveries to keep up with the local news. Truth be told, this multi-millionaire was on most of the society pages, though he only stood with old friends (usually male) or completely alone. He didn't understand why the wealthy man wanted none of the women who flung themselves at his feet, as it didn't make any sense.

'_Nevermind that_!' he snapped to himself. '_Pay attention, you idiot_!'

Turning his full attention back towards the couple, he clenched his fists in anger.

"Would you…join me for dinner this evening, my dear?" he heard Monsieur Garnier ask.

"I'd love to," Alisa replied with a smile.

Fighting back his anger, he watched the two pack up Alisa's belongings and exit the stage and audience chamber, leaving him alone once more. Snarling, he flourished his cape and headed down towards his home.

Sealing the tunnels behind him gave him a sense of security. Knowing that the people above had no way of finding him and throwing him out of his sanctuary was calming, allowing him to focus on more important matters. Today, his thoughts were full of Alisa and Erik Garnier.

"Damn him!" he snarled, pulling off his thick cape and tossing it into his bedroom to land on the floor.

He didn't know why he had the cape as part of his outfit, as it was so old-fashioned and resembled something a super-villain wore. The rest of his outfit consisted of black materials cut in a modern style with everything from his pants to his shirt kept dark so that, should he be seen or discovered, he could easily blend into the darkness of the caverns. However, the cape seemed dramatic, and swishing it around gave him a sort of enjoyment that was rare in his life. Besides, it made him laugh to twirl it around himself as he walked through the secret tunnels, feeling like a living shadow instead of a man.

After dressing himself in a comfortable black pajama ensemble, he found himself before a mirror, gazing at the horror that was his face. Hesitating a moment, he slowly reached up and removed the mask from the left side of his face. Unlike the man above, who had at least half of a normal face, Damon was completely monstrous in appearance. All of his features were composed of twisted flesh, but was more so on the left side, which was why he covered it up with the left-sided half-mask he had found in the trash of an out-of-business costume shop. Sighing, he looked himself over.

The left part of his face was a mess, looking as though someone had dried the skin and molded it to the skull, and was practically transparent enough to see the bone underneath. The right half of his face wasn't pretty to look at, either, but he thought it tolerable. The flesh was thicker, but the skin was folded over from under his eye down to mid-cheek, and his skin a blotchy-red, looking raw and uneven. The odd thing was that, despite his parents having lily-fair complexions, the entirety of _his_ face was an oddly dusty, yellowish-black color, looking as though it had been lightly sprinkled with a mixture of dirt.

'_The face of a demon_,' he thought angrily. '_The only good thing about my existence is that the rest of my body is what society considers_ '**_normal_**.''

His parents had been horrified at his appearance since his birth, he was sure. As an only child, he had been the baby they had hoped for, though he came out a mangled, twisted creature instead of the perfect cherub they were expecting. The doctors could not explain why baby Damon had emerged the way he had; perhaps an illness his mother had had while pregnant, or something bad she ate while carrying her child had caused it. Or perhaps it was a fluke in his 'genetic makeup,' as they put it.

Either way, he had eventually been accepted by both mother and father, and he had been loved. They had been quite wealthy, and had spoiled him with toys, musical instruments, and books to learn from as they did not want to expose him to the horrors of a playground. Eventually, though, he had wanted to play with other children, but after being called a monster and chased from the play area, he had once more returned to the loneliness that was his parents' estate. He was kept happy and out of sight until his parents' fatal car accident, which had occurred one evening as they were returning home from a party. He was left on his own after that, though he had their money to support himself.

'_But if Alisa could be attracted to a man with half a face, it is a small step towards wanting a man with a fully disfigured one_!' he thought with hope as he replaced the mask and turned towards his electric guitar.

And she _would_ love him. Oddly enough, he had never wanted female companionship before, but now that he had seen someone be attracted to someone for inner beauty, he wanted it. To have Alisa close to him as he slept and to have her sit there to talk with was something he was very much looking forward to. He would merely have to keep an eye open for her. After all, if she was the new interest of Erik Garnier, then she was sure to be around the Opera House, wasn't she? After that, it was only a matter of time before he wooed her away to his underground home…forever.

* * *

AN: Creepy, isn't he? Please review and let me know what you think. 


	5. Dinner in Paris

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to **_Phantom of the Opera_** (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers). See?

AN: And now a Phantom-fan's dream: having dinner with Erik. I hope that everyone enjoys the chapter and will review it. Thanks!

**Chapter 5: Dinner in Paris:**

I let Erik whisk me away in a taxi cab to a small corner restaurant. The eatery was dark and looked empty on the outside, but once he'd escorted me past the front door, I noticed that it was meant to look that way. In fact, the place was beautiful and mysterious, the candlelit interior very elegant in dark woods and red velvets, the walls a deep maroon that absorbed light instead of reflecting it. All together, it was one of the most romantic settings I could ever imagine.

'_It's like a scene from a movie_,' I thought as the hostess smiled and led us inside.

Erik gently took my hand in his and escorted me to our table, which happened to be a cozy booth in the back right-hand corner. He took a seat to my left while I sat in the center of the curve of the booth and the table. All around the back were lanterns that flickered with light, and there was a small candelabrum in the center of the table, the candles set in delicate cups of cut crystal. I felt horribly underdressed in my jeans and sneakers, along with a bulky travel bag, but the way Erik smiled at me made it feel as though it were the most expensive and gorgeous outfit in the world.

"You look lovely," Erik whispered as the hostess gave us our menus. "Do not worry, many of those who eat here come directly off the streets and are dressed as you are." A teasing smile played upon his lips. "However, I should mention that this place is a well-kept secret known only to a few people, so try to keep it between us, hmm?"

I giggled at him before looking down at my menu to see the choices. After my first glance, however, I knew I was in trouble.

The whole thing was written in French.

Since cursing aloud was not an option, I settled for blushing instead. Like most Americans, I did not speak French, and hadn't studied it at all before traveling to the center of French civilization. Chewing my lower lip, I tried to figure out the situation without embarrassing myself; the last thing I wanted to do was pull out my French-English dictionary, since that would practically scream that I was a tourist and needed help.

'_Well, I could always ask Erik_.' That idea, while a good one, seemed as embarrassing as the rest. I barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes. '_Oh, yeah, **that** would be a good way to impress someone_! '_Hey, Erik, would you mind translating my menu for me_? _I can't read it_.' _Oh, yes, **very** nice, Alisa_.'

However, I didn't have any other choices, so I shyly peeked up from my menu and glanced over at the man sitting beside me. To my surprise, Erik was giving me a sweet, understanding look while his menu lay flat on the table.

"Would you like me to translate it for you, Alisa?" he asked, nodding at the menu in my hands. "Or would you like me to order for the two of us instead?"

I could feel the blush in my cheeks deepen as I cleared my throat. "Well, you see…" I sighed and put the menu down as well. "I've never had French food before, though I've heard all sorts of things about what you do and don't eat, but…"

"But you are not sure you can, how do you say, 'stomach' our food?" Erik asked in a teasing voice, laughing as I clapped a hand over my eyes in embarrassment. "No, do not fret," he said as he place a gentle hand on mine, removing it from my face. "Do you like seafood or beef?"

Nodding, I reached for the cloth napkin-wrapped silverware and freed the utensils from their cloth prison, spreading the napkin over my lap to keep my hands busy. "I like both, actually, though I can't eat lobster." He gave me a puzzled look. "I'm not allergic to it or anything; it just doesn't agree with me, that's all. Crab and shrimp is fine, though, as is everything else."

Erik nodded. "You are not vegetarian?" he pressed, as though he wanted to be absolutely sure he wasn't going to insult me by ordering the wrong thing.

"No, but don't order any veal or baby animals, okay?" I said with a half-smile. "No snails, either!"

He chuckled. "As you wish," he said as the waiter approached the table. "Now, do you trust your stomach with me?"

I smiled. "Of course I do," I replied, leaning back in the booth.

When the waiter arrived, I watched in fascination as Erik used that wonderful voice of his to speak in French as he ordered our dinner. How in the world could watching a Frenchman order dinner look and sound so sexy and fantastic? Not wanting to interrupt, I merely sat there and listened in as the two chatted. A moment later, the waiter left and Erik and I were left alone once more.

"Thanks for ordering for me," I said as a busboy placed water glasses on the table and filled them before scurrying off. "If I'd tried doing it, I'm afraid I would have ordered something terrible or gotten funny looks!"

"It was no trouble," Erik replied as he took a sip of water. "Would you care for some wine?"

"Oh, I'm afraid that I'm not familiar with wine," I said, feeling uncomfortable.

I watched as his left eyebrow rose. "But you are of drinking age, yes?" he asked.

"Well, yes, of course, but I've never actually-" was as far as I got before Erik signaled to another waiter.

Lowering my eyes, I felt a sense of dread creep over me. Why, oh _why_, did I feel like an uneducated, backwoods girl next to this man? He was so handsome, and so experienced in the world that it made me feel as though I should have stayed in the small town I came from. It also didn't help that Erik was extremely well-dressed, too; a dark blue dress-shirt, black pants, polished leather shoes, and gold cufflinks all screamed good taste, and the dark colors only made his white mask stand out even more.

"Here you are," Erik's voice cut into my thoughts.

I pulled myself back to the present and watched a waiter pour some very expensive wine into two glasses. After his task was done, the wine server wrapped the bottle in a white cloth and set it in a silver ice bucket (which had appeared while I was lost in thought) before leaving us with a polite bow.

"A red wine to go with our meal," Erik said, raising his glass as though for a toast.

I hesitantly picked up my glass, suddenly feeling very timid about proceeding. Nonetheless, I raised it and the sound of the two glasses coming together rang across the table. I watched as Erik took a sip of his wine, rolling it through his mouth with his tongue, and I suddenly felt the need for some cold water. Placing the wine glass back on the table, I picked up my water and sipped, savoring the coolness of the ice as it helped stop the blush that I could feel spreading through me.

'_Oh, god, I don't think I've ever blushed this much in my life_!' I thought as I took another sip of water while trying to avoid eye contact with Erik.

Then again, I didn't have much experience talking to ordinary males, much less handsome men who asked me out to dinner after serenading me on the stage of the Paris Opera House! Personally, I was very flattered by all this attention, but I just couldn't believe that this remarkable man was interested in _me_. I just happened to be a young woman with good timing, that's all!

"You have not touched your wine," Erik remarked, pulling my attention towards him once more.

I looked between my glasses and winced. "I'm afraid I'm not one for alcohol," I said, sipping my water once more. "Besides, the wine I tried once did not turn out to be a very good experience."

"Ah," he replied as he reached out and took my wine glass from its spot on the table. I watched in fascination as Erik used his other hand to pick up one of my own and place the glass in my hand. "Americans, I'm afraid, are not raised on good French wine, and therefore it takes them time to accustom themselves to its taste. I promise that this is one that will be far better than any you have previously experienced."

Looking into his green eyes, I saw that there was a flicker of hope, as though the fate of his entire world rested on my opinion of his wine choice. Inwardly sighing, I took a sip of the dark red liquid. An explosion of sweetness flowed throughout my mouth, and I nearly spit it back out in surprise. The wine was actually quite good, though there was a light tang to it, as it _did_ have alcohol in it. Still, it was very pleasant, and after I swallowed, I took another sip, keeping an eye on Erik's expression as I did so.

A relieved smile pulled at his lips. "You enjoy it, then?" he pressed, as though to make sure.

I finished swallowing the sip I had taken and smiled at him. "Well, I'm not a wine-lover yet, but you're right; this is better than the one I previously had."

He chuckled before taking a drink from his own glass.

* * *

Inside, Erik could feel his heart melting as she smiled at him. He had taken a great risk at ordering the wine, but as with most Americans who were inexperienced with the beverage, he had ordered the sweetest, least-alcoholic wine the restaurant had to offer. Thankfully, Alisa was pleased with it, which helped to quell his anxiety about the evening. 

The restaurant he had brought her to happened to be one of the most expensive in Paris, but didn't really have a name. It kept itself a secret by hiding behind a nondescript exterior and catered only to a very specific clientele. If a tourist was fortunate enough to find this place by word-of-mouth, and could speak French fluently, they would be able to have a good meal with very little trouble. However, the place mostly served the wealthy and/or noble classes, and could almost be mistaken for a "club" of the rich and aristocratic.

Erik himself had come across the place quite by accident. He had been heading home from the Opera House, walking to enjoy the fine weather, and had accidentally stumbled through the door after a group of tourists had crowded him off the sidewalk. At first, the hostess had been surprised to see him, but after a moment, she seemed to recognize Erik as the wealthy owner of the Opera House. That shouldn't have been difficult to deduce, as his picture sometimes appeared in various parts of the Paris newspapers, mostly in the society pages. The woman had then asked him if he would like to sit down to dinner, and after that, the place became a regular dining experience for him.

Since he spent quite a few evenings a week eating here, this very booth, the one that he and his lovely date sat in this evening, was always reserved for him. True, as a force of habit from his past experiences, Erik did not usually go out very often; but then, most places weren't as dark as this place was, nor was the seating as ideal as it was here. If he was seated facing away from the crowds, no one could see his mask, and therefore, no one would stare at him and whisper behind his back until he'd left the place. The dim lighting of the restaurant, combined with the perfect seating, quickly became his favorite place to eat.

'_Though before tonight, I've always eaten here alone_,' Erik thought as he sipped his wine. '_I can only imagine what could happen if I brought a date along with me_.' He shuddered at the thought. '_Those dates would probably order the most expensive things on the menu and coo over everything in sight_!'

Thankfully, Alisa was not like that. She seemed quite shy, actually, which only appealed to him even more. He noticed that she was alternately sipping the wine and her water, probably to either _not_ become drunk, or to try and appease him in drinking the wine he'd ordered. Whichever one it was, Erik could only think higher of her.

'_The last thing I want to do is carry her out of here after unintentionally getting her drunk_,' he thought, smiling in amusement. '_That would only embarrass her later, and it would be a shame if she decided to no longer see him because of one little 'situation_.''

"Erik?" Alisa's voice asked. "Are you paying attention?"

He turned his attentions away from his wine glass and back towards the present. "Yes?"

"I believe our food is arriving," she commented as she leaned back in her seat, allowing the servers to set a plate in front of her.

Erik leaned back as well, inhaling the smells of their dishes. The waiters quickly refilled the wine and water glasses and bowed before leaving the two alone once more. Curious as to how his lady would react to her meal, Erik carefully watched Alisa's expression as she picked up her fork and began to investigate her food.

* * *

'_I have **no** idea what this is_,' I thought as my eyes stared at my plate. 

To be truthful, I thought it looked like raw beef, but I could have been wrong. However, the smells coming it was unmistakable: it was indeed beef, but whether or not it was cooked was the question.

"It is cooked," Erik whispered to me. I looked up at him in surprise. "The sauce is red; that is why you look alarmed and hesitant to try it, no?"

I blushed and nodded before picking up my knife and cutting into the meat. To my relief, it was cooked perfectly, and I was relieved to see that the sauce was indeed red from the herbs and wine, not from the meat itself. Slicing a piece of the beef away from the rest, I poked it with my fork and put it in my mouth. The first thing I tasted was the wine used in the sauce, but after that, a wonderful, savory flavor coated my tongue, and I couldn't stop myself from taking another bite before the first one had been swallowed. Erik chuckled before digging into his own dinner, a mixture of seafood that consisted of shrimp, scallops, and mushrooms, along with other things I couldn't name, but which certainly smelled wonderful.

We ate in silence for a few moments, getting about halfway through our meals before attempting conversation. Erik asked me if I was enjoying Paris, and I casually remarked that it was my first day here, though it was indeed a memorable one. I listed the other things I hoped to see, but Erik merely waved them aside.

"If you will permit it, I will happily show you the city as it should be seen," he said with a hopeful smile, green eyes glittering in the candlelight.

I gladly returned the smile after swallowing another mouthful of beef. "That sounds wonderful," I said, blushing while cutting another bite to eat.

"Tell me, Alisa, why are you in Paris alone?" Erik asked as he polished off his dinner.

A chunk of meat lodged in my throat, though I managed to force it down by swallowing a bit of water along with it. "Well," I replied once the food was safely in my stomach, though I had now lost my appetite. I gently put the fork and knife down onto my plate. "You see…I'm embarrassed to say that I don't have many friends in my life, and since a relative of mine just left me some money, I decided to use it to visit Paris while I was young enough to enjoy it and look around."

Erik nodded. "I, too, do not have friends in my life," he said softly, his right hand reaching out to clasp my own. "But then, I am an artist, and we tend to only meet people in our own circle during special events, and rarely even then." He visibly winced and I saw his right hand twitch upwards, though just slightly.

I looked up at him and followed his hand's direction up to the mask on his face. _How_ had I not seen it before? It was a beautiful golden-color in the candlelight of the lanterns, shining like a living work of art in the dancing glow of the room, and I couldn't resist a closer look. The thing was perfectly fitted to his face, so much so that it even dimpled where there was probably a slightly hollow in his cheek. Where his forehead, eyebrow, cheekbone, and nose formed ridges, the mask reflected them flawlessly. I swear that I could even see the muscles in his face move beneath the white material!

Just then, I noticed that Erik had released my left hand and placed his now-free right hand on his face…on his mask. I instantly felt guilty for staring and reached for his hand with my own. Gently, I slid his hand down to the table, watching as his green eyes stared downwards.

"You have nothing to be ashamed about, Erik," I said, keeping my voice soft as I stroked his hand with my thumb.

His eyes flicked upwards to look at me.

* * *

Alisa was looking at him with the softest, gentlest gaze he had ever seen. Within those brown orbs, Erik could see warmth and understanding, as well as a kindness he had rarely experienced in his long life. Over a century ago, people had pointed and stared, keeping their distance from the man with the unusual face. With the passing of time, people pointed less, but grew increasingly bolder in their stares, some of them actually focusing all of their attention on his mask while they spoke to him. 

As modern medicine took leaps and bounds, and as Erik made his emergences into the world time and time again, he had been pressed by others to "fix his problem" and become a 'normal-looking' member of society. Those who tried to convince him to change his appearance had been acquaintances he'd made as an architect, primarily construction business owners, lumber barons, and those he had been hired by. However, Erik managed to avoid these comments by avoiding public places and keeping to his house; back then, people respected the fact that, if a man did not leave his home, it was because he had a good reason.

Presently, the ones most insistent about his looks were the wealthy members in society, usually those who partook in visits to the Opera House and tried to get to know its owner. With the success of the **_Phantom of the Opera_** musical, along with his purchasing the renowned piece of property that was the Paris Opera House, hiding away was no longer an option. Today, elusiveness tended to make people suspicious, as privacy meant nothing when it came to the rich and/or famous; the newspapers and tabloids saw to that. Erik had then been forced to emerge as the flawed man that he was, though he'd hoped to be able to continue as he always had: hiding away from cameras and keeping close to home.

However, pictures had become easier and easier to get and develop, and avoiding them was difficult, especially when people in masks had always been a novelty that drew much attention. When Erik had first emerged as a wealthy man and owner of the Opera House, people had thought it romantic and a "stunt" when he'd first stood before the building and posed for a photograph. After a while, many realized that he did, in fact, have a flawed face, and had pressured him to "fix it" with surgery. Opera patrons, society friends, and young women who threw themselves at him said that he could easily afford it, so why not get it over with?

In the end, no matter how tempting it was to do away with the thing that had branded him an outcast, Erik had always refused. In his heart-of-hearts, he knew that the love of his life would care for him no matter what he looked like, that she would look past the mask and feel something for him despite his facial horrors. Tonight, that woman sat beside him and held his hand in hers, offering him comfort while candlelight danced around her figure.

Smiling, Erik gently squeezed her hand in return.

* * *

I savored the feel of Erik returning my gesture. I watched confidence and passion fill his eyes, turning them from a pale green to a deep emerald in a manner of seconds. It was incredible to watch the transformation of the man seated beside me, almost like watching a phoenix rise from its ashes, bringing its raging power along with it. Determination seemed to flow off of his body, and when he looked at me, I could feel my insides melt. 

"Alisa, my dear," Erik whispered as he signaled for the check. "Would you care to join me at my home this evening? I believe I shall introduce you to more of French life, such as artwork and architecture."

"Oh, um…alright," I said as an intense, cold-heat flowed through me. Wait a minute…did I just agree to go with Erik to his house? I didn't even know this man for more than a couple of hours and I was going home with him? What was I thinking?

'_Then again, you only live once_,' I thought as Erik paid the bill and got up before reaching out for my hand. Grinning widely, I accepted it and happily followed him out the door.

* * *

AN: Hmm, an evening with Erik, alone? It'll get steamy from here on out, so beware and review! 


	6. The Phantom's Manor

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Phantom of the Opera_**. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Someone flamed me and said that my character is a Mary Sue. She also said that there's no way a guy could fall in love with a girl at a distance. Hello, isn't that what the Phantom did with Christine while teaching her through a wall? Okay, so my character may resemble a Mary Sue, but the definition of a Mary Sue is that she's "perfect and able to do everything/anything flawlessly," which Alisa doesn't. She's human, she's got flaws, so there. To all my other readers, enjoy and review!

**Chapter 6: The Phantom's Manor**:

I was in complete awe as Erik's limo pulled up to the sidewalk, halting with the door right at my feet. From the moment I'd met him, I had guessed that, if he owned the Opera House, he must be rich; however, I didn't expect him to be _this_ rich! I hadn't known that a beautiful black limo was his daily source of transportation, given that he'd walked me to the restaurant, but to have that type of car roll up to the sidewalk just for us took my breath away.

I'd never ridden in a limo before, and I felt like a princess as Erik handed me inside the luxurious car. Quickly scooting over to make room for my date, I felt the soft leather seating give way like melting butter as I settled in. The interior was all black, from the elegant wood paneling to the leather seats, and the only illumination came from the single light at the ceiling. A short distance away was a mini-bar with all sorts of glass bottles, most of which were written in French, though I could clearly see that one or two were a bottle of American rum or cordials. I was tempted to try one, but felt it might be rude to help myself without Erik's permission. Instead, I merely settled back into the seat and savored my first limo ride.

A few moments after the car had pulled into traffic, I felt something slide across my shoulders. Looking to my left, I saw Erik's hand resting there, his touch warm and gentle. He seemed a bit hesitant to move any further, and I couldn't help but smile at his shyness which so mirrored my own.

'_He must not have much experience with women_,' I thought as I very slowly moved closer to him, letting his arm and hand settle further around my shoulders. '_Then again, I don't have much experience with dating, either, so I suppose we're even_.'

I heard Erik inhale sharply as my right shoulder made contact with his body, but from the way his arm tightened around me, I could guess that he didn't want me to move away. Smiling to myself, I let him pull me closer to him, until the back of my head brushed against his shoulder. My natural instinct suddenly took control of my body, and before I could stop myself, my head was comfortably nestled against Erik's shoulder. I could feel him hesitate briefly, but he quickly slid his arm into place, letting his hand settle upon my hip as the car drove down the road to his home.

'_How could a man this sweet and romantic **not** have much experience with women_?' I thought to myself as I snuggled closer to him.

It just didn't make any sense! Was it because of his face, I wondered? No, it couldn't be. Then again, people were so shallow and vain these days, so yes, it could be his face…or rather, it was his mask. In all probability, it was that small piece of white leather that made all the difference in his social life. I, myself, was fascinated with it, and it was likely the mystery of what was behind it that drew women towards Erik. But what actually lay behind that barrier was most certainly something that horrified whoever was shallow enough to not see the soul that was inside. The man that was behind the mask was the most romantic person that I'd ever met, and I was looking forward to getting to know him much better, especially when he held me so close with such a gentle touch.

Wanting to have the experience last as long as possible, I closed my eyes and savored the moment.

* * *

As Alisa nestled closer to him, Erik felt his heart beat faster. For the first time in his life, a woman was happily snuggling up to him without having an ulterior motive. Many women had attempted to worm their way into his arms and his heart, but they were only after two things: one was his money, and the other was the need to satisfy their curiosity of what lay behind the mask. After so many years of fending off "gold-diggers," Erik had become experienced in avoiding such people. 

However, Alisa was different. When the limo had been pulling up, he had expected her to squeal in delight at the sight of it. However, she had surprised him by looking at it in awe as they had gotten in, and had looked around the interior of it with curiosity. It was evident that she had never ridden in a limousine before, and Erik had felt a sense of pride in being the first one to give her the pleasure of doing so.

Once they were safely tucked within the luxury of the vehicle, Erik attempted to do something he'd never tried before: wrapping his arm around a woman's shoulders. He'd been hesitant about it at first, but she looked so lovely sitting there on the black leather that he wanted her close to him. The warmth of her body called to him as nothing had before, and he had to have her touching him. So, ever-so-slowly, Erik stretched out his left arm and slid it behind her, gently laying it between her and the seat.

To his surprise, not only did Alisa _not_ move away, but she seemed to encourage it by moving closer! He felt her slowly move into the crook of his arm, then press herself against his side, his arm now able to fully wrap itself around her and her sweet warmth. Inhaling sharply, Erik felt his hand move under its own accord and clutch her shoulder, pulling her fully against him. Fearing that she would pull away at his boldness, he held his breath, his heart pounding until Alisa's head leaned back and rested against his shoulder, a contented sigh escaping from her lips as she did so.

As much as he wished to cuddle closer, Erik managed to barely hold himself back, instead keeping his arm firmly around Alisa's body until his home came within sight. Her lack of response to the magnificence of his house was a tell-tale sign that her eyes were closed as she rested against him. Even though it tore him apart to do so, Erik moved his shoulder and whispered down to her.

"We're here, my dear," he said.

Waiting anxiously, Erik held his breath and waited for Alisa's reaction.

* * *

I opened my eyes and saw something that belonged in a movie. The gates we pulled through were huge, and the driveway looked to be a mile long. On both sides of the road ran a row of trees, all of them standing tall and offering a natural overhang against the elements, protecting the cars that ran underneath it. The road was remarkably well-paved, and I couldn't help thinking that it had to be horribly expensive to keep it this smooth at all times. 

Looking up, I set eyes on the most magnificent house I'd ever seen. I was sorely tempted to call it a palace, but it seemed smaller than that, so I decided that it was a very large mansion instead. Rather, it was an estate, as I could clearly see lush gardens and orchards both close to and distant from the house, and it vaguely reminded me of the Darcy mansion in the two film versions of **_Pride and Prejudice_**. It was only two levels, but the windows were tall, so the rooms had to be incredibly large. The stonework bore elegantly made carvings, and beautiful stained glass decorated a few windows on both the top and bottom levels.

"Oh, my," I whispered as the car pulled up to the front. "You could house an army in there and still have room for more guests!"

Beside me, Erik laughed. "Not quite, but it is fairly large," he replied as he opened the car door and got out, pausing briefly before reaching back inside for me. "Come, it'll be warmer inside."

I quickly accepted his offered hand and got out, the steps leading up to the front door incredibly wide and going up at least ten steps. "Oh, my goodness," I said.

Erik chuckled and tightened his grip on my hand as he led me up to the double doors, which were made from a wonderful cherry wood, and had perfectly polished brass handles. He then pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked them, swinging them soundlessly open and letting the glow of dozens of lights fall upon us in the evening darkness.

"After you," he said, stepping aside to let me through.

Holding my breath, I felt like Lucy stepping into the Wardrobe, half-expecting to end up in another fairyland much like Narnia. In fact, the hallway I walked into was like another world, one made up of carved marble, beautiful antique furniture, priceless artwork, and a staircase on the right-hand side, going up to another level that had to be as wonderful as this one.

The floor consisted of marble that was shot with gold or a gold-colored metal, and it felt as though only the rich or royal should step on it. Every piece of furniture in sight looked old, but in perfect condition, as though there was an army of servants kept here just to take care of them (it wouldn't surprise me if there were such a thing). The wooden railing of the stairway was either mahogany or ebony, and the stairs were covered in a thick, soft rug that begged to be walked upon in bare feet. Paintings of forests, gardens, Greek or Roman statues, and well-known legends decorated the walls, all of them so well-done that they took my breath away.

Without a word, Erik took my hand and led me down a lit hallway and to the right, stopping before a pair of white double doors that were the near twins of those in the front. Taking his keys from his pocket, he unlocked them and swung open the doors, one of his hands reaching to turn on the lights. Above me, light exploded from three crystal chandeliers, the clear gems in them reflecting rainbows and fairy-lights onto the white marble floor and the bits of white walls that weren't painted with Roman mythological creatures and gardens.

I was then led from that illuminated room to another room on the right side of the house, this one a dining hall which could easily seat two dozen people. However, from the lack of markings on the table, it must have either been used rarely or not at all. Still, the rich red wallpaper and gold paint made it a warm, inviting room for guests to chat over a good meal and wine. Four large, painted porcelain vases stood empty, one on each side of the room, all waiting to be filled with the flowers of the season that the dinners were to take place in.

From there, Erik pulled me to the opposite side of the house, to the front corner of the mansion and into a living room that was a mix of dark red and chocolate brown, all of which made me feel like I was being hugged warmly by the room itself. On the opposite wall stood huge fireplace looked like it could roast a small calf with little trouble, and everything inside it was outlined in wood and brass. An invitingly thick carpet lay upon the hardwood floor before the fireplace, and in the far right corner stood a black piano. Beyond the grand instrument was an array of shelves containing books and a silver stereo system almost begging to be used. The whole room seemed to have been prepared in welcome of Erik's return, and yet it was probably the most inviting room I'd ever laid eyes on.

From there, Erik took me to a back room on the left side of the house, the door to this room possessing a lock that looked as though it were frequently being used to keep out intruders. I gave him a puzzled look, but all he did was wink at me before swinging the door open. As he guided me inside, the overhanging lights switched on, and I couldn't hold back a gasp of delight.

"Welcome to my work room," Erik's voice breathed into my ear.

I stepped forward and began looking at everything that I could. The room was huge, and it must have, at one time, been two rooms before a wall had been knocked down and wooden pillars put into its place. This made it easier to shift or move the dozen or so tables scattered about the room, all of them covered with pieces of artwork. Paintings, sculptures, models of buildings, drawing (in details and rough sketches), and even music boxes were everywhere. There were so many that my mind felt as though it were going to burst from all the excitement and wonder flowing through me.

"Do you like it?" Erik whispered, his voice soft and his breath warm on my ear as he spoke.

"Oh, it's…incredible!" I breathed, my voice soft as I answered him. "If I had all the money in the world, I would design and live in a house just like this one!"

* * *

It was exactly what he'd hoped to hear. Given time, he would woo her and make this house hers as well. Erik could just imagine the two of them spending the rest of their lives here in this place, growing old together as they sat before the fireplace. Would they become grandparents as well? 

'_Perhaps someday_,' he thought to himself as he put his right arm around her waist. '_But first things first_…'

Gently, he began leading her further into his art room, taking her to one specific table. On top of it stood a perfect working model of the Paris Opera House, an exact replica down to the last detail. The only things that were missing from it were the hidden passageways beneath it; he had purposely left those out, as the memories that they brought were far too painful. He wanted to forget that horrible, painful past and start again, hopefully with Alisa.

Meanwhile, the object of his affections had broken free of his gentle grip and was circling the table, her eyes drinking in everything that she saw. Fascinated, Erik watched her lips as they moved soundlessly. To him, she seemed to be whispering praise to the little replica, her brown eyes dancing with delight as she studied it. He hated to disturb this precious moment, but there was much more for her to see.

"Would you like to see inside of it?" he asked softly.

Alisa's head jerked up, her eyes meeting his. "There's more?" she asked in surprise.

"Of course," he replied with a smile.

Reaching out with both hands, he carefully took hold of the roof of the model and lifted it up. A gasp from Alisa was all the praise he needed for the tiny perfect world created within the small building.

* * *

I thought that I had inspected every detail there was to see about the tiny Opera House, but when Erik lifted the top off of it, I knew I had been wrong. Inside was the exact image of the place in detail; from the little red velvet seats, to the vast orchestra pit before the stage, to the crystal chandelier suspended from thin wires crisscrossing over the audience, it was the Opera House shrunk down to scale. Everything was like I had seen it earlier that day, and I couldn't be more thrilled. 

"Oh, Erik, it's perfect!" I said while leaning in closer. "Look, there are even little musical scores on the music stands in the orchestra pit!"

He chuckled as his right hand pointed to the backstage area, hidden behind a little red velvet curtain. "Gently pull that little gold cord and see what else is there."

I did so, and nearly squealed with excitement upon seeing the little tables covered with props, as though the whole thing were waiting for the next performance. I even saw a few costumes on mannequins the size of my thumb, waiting to be put on by a diva or worked upon by little model seamstresses. One was a red gown with gold lace trimming, and another was a green gown right out of the Renaissance period.

"Erik, this must have taken _ages_ for you to do!" I exclaimed, one of my hands reaching out to touch the miniature dresses before I could stop myself.

Once I saw what I was doing, I immediately stopped and pulled back. It would be a tragedy to break something that looked so delicate, so I quickly placed my hands behind my back, much like a small child would after being caught doing something naughty. I heard Erik chuckle softly, but ignored him, instead focusing on the incredible work of art that lay before me. Never before had I seen anything so amazing, especially something that would take a dedicated person a year to complete, if they were lucky. Much as I was loath to admit it, there was no possible way that I could do anything like this in my lifetime! I couldn't even make a decent paper airplane if I tried!

"Come, I have more to show you," Erik whispered as he gently prodded me with his fingers.

I giggled. "That tickles!" I exclaimed, squirming slightly.

The moment of silence should have warned me, but I still wasn't prepared when Erik began a full tickle attack on me. I was still squealing in laughter as he paused and proceeded to pick me up, carrying me away from his precious art to set me down in the hallway and tickle me some more.

"Erik!" I cried, my eyes flowing with tears from laughing so hard.

He merely laughed as he continued to poke me under my arms, which were the most ticklish places on my body. After a few moments, he finally let me go to catch my breath, which was a mistake on his part. Taking the opportunity in hand, I managed to get myself together and break free, running like a giggling madwoman to the living room. Behind me, I could hear Erik yelp in surprise before racing after me.

"You cannot escape me!" he declared just as I raced through the doors and into the room

Little did he know that I didn't _want_ to escape him, letting myself be cornered in the room with excitement running through me as Erik entered through the double doors. I stood in absolute admiration as the darkness of the room swirled around him like a cloak, the determined look on his face making him appear mysterious as he stalked towards me. His white mask practically glowed in the faint light of the fireplace, and I wanted to melt right then and there. Before I could, though, Erik was there, his strong arms wrapping around my waist as he pulled me close.

Breathless, I waited staring up into green eyes that were nearly black in the darkness. Slowly, his face descended, and I barely had time to gasp before his lips were pressed against my own.

* * *

Only once before in his life had he ever been kissed, and that particular kiss had been under extreme circumstances. This one, though, was real, real in the sense that the woman wrapping her arms around his neck had true feelings for him and wanted his touch as much as he wanted hers. Christine had kissed him out of pity and to free herself and her beloved Raoul. Alisa, who was so different from his former protégé, _wanted_ to kiss him, and was more than responsive to his touch and kiss. All this he knew from way she held him close and pressed willingly against him. 

'_She's so soft and warm_,' Erik thought to himself through the fog forming in his mind.

The curves of Alisa's body fit perfectly against his own, and as he tangled one of his hands in her lusciously thick hair, he felt her sag against him, her body melting under his touch. As he pulled her closer, Erik slowly lowered the two of them down to the rug, laying them before the crackling fireplace. Beneath him, Alisa sighed into their kiss, her arms tightening around his neck and shoulders. Pulling back for a moment, Erik caught his breath before bending to kiss her once more.

'_This…**this** is what I've been waiting so long for_,' he thought to himself as he stretched his body protectively over Alisa's.

But a kiss can only last for so long, and sooner than he cared for, Erik pulled back, both he and Alisa were gasping for air. After they had both caught their breath, Erik found himself struck with an idea. It would have been scandalous to propose such a thing one hundred years ago, but now, it was something that he longed to ask her before it was too late.

However, it was she who spoke first. "I should be getting back to the hotel," she whispered, her tone reluctant as one of her hands began combing through his hair.

Momentarily distracted by her caresses, it took him a moment to fully comprehend what had just been said. Blinking rapidly, Erik brought himself back to the present.

"Stay here," he said, once again running his fingers through her hair, returning her touch. He watched with pleasure as her cheeks turned red. "I have many rooms, so we need not share the same bed." '_Yet_,' he thought, grinning inwardly.

Alisa seemed to think about it thoroughly, chewing her lower lip as she did so. Finally, she stopped and looked up at him. "Well…alright," she said with a smile.

Slowly, Erik rose from the floor, taking Alisa's hand in his and helping her to her feet. After dusting themselves off, he led her up the stairs and down a hallway to the left. Just before he reached the end of the corridor, he paused before a door that was painted a dark blue. Placing a hand on the knob, he slowly opened it and revealed a room completely decorated in dark blue and silver. Alisa gasped as he flicked a switch, a small lamp lighting on the far side of the room and casting just enough illumination to see by.

Turning, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek before slipping inside, closing the door behind her. A moment later, she heard him enter the room next to hers before shutting and locking the door.

* * *

AN: Sweet chapter, wasn't it? I was thinking that perhaps I might make this story a bit steamier, and so the rating might go up. I'm not sure, though. Please review and let me know how your thoughts on this story! 


	7. Down into Hell

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to **_Phantom of the Opera_** (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers). See?

AN: **Warning**: this has a mild/moderate assault scene concerning a woman, so beware! Also, I would like to mention that, from the small amount of reviews, I'm guessing that nobody really likes this story. It's very discouraging. It makes me feel as though I'm doing something wrong, and I'd like to know what that is. Please review if you have any sort of comments/questions about this story. Thanks! Also, her name is pronounced Alisa (AH-LIS-AH).

**Chapter 7: Down Into Hell:**

As the limo drove towards the Opera House, I found myself snuggling into Erik's shoulder, which seemed to please him as much as it did me. The sun was shining, the sounds of the city of Paris surrounded us, and as I peeked through the tinted windows, I saw happy couples walking together along the sidewalks. Today, I could count myself as one of them.

Two days ago, I'd woken up in my room at Erik's mansion, confused as to why the hotel room had changed. After fully jerking myself to consciousness, I remembered where I was and what had happened the night before. I could still feel his strong arms around me and taste Erik's lips on mine, and there was nothing I wanted more than to feel all of that again.

* * *

I'd woken up, looked down at my sleeping outfit, and winced. Unable to find any sort of sleepwear the night before, I'd been forced to go to Erik's room and borrow one of his shirts. We'd both blushed and laughed in embarrassment at the matter, though Erik had been more than willing to grant my request. As he'd handed the pristine white shirt to me, I felt guilty about wrinkling it up, but he'd assured me that it was alright, and that he had dozens more to spare. I'd given him a thank-you kiss on the cheek and rushed back to my room before I changed my mind and gave the shirt back. 

After a quick wash and change back into the previous day's clothing, I made a note to ask Erik to take me back to my hotel so that I could switch into a fresher outfit. That had turned out to be a needless thought, for, as I walked downstairs, I saw my suitcase sitting in the middle of the hallway and Erik standing beside it! Carefully thanking him for his thoughtfulness, I'd changed into another set of jeans and a blue velvet-like shirt before joining Erik for breakfast in his dining room.

The morning meal was a delicious meal of quiche and sausage, though I was confused as to why I'd never seen any servants running around to do any cleaning or cooking. Erik, using the powers of observation, explained to me that he did not like having people waiting on him hand-and-foot, and instead preferred to do things himself. He had a cook, cleaning staff, and other such things, but they lived in separate housing located a quarter-mile away from the mansion. The cook came in early to make breakfast, storing it on a hot-plate for Erik to help himself to when he up; the same was done with the evening meals. The cleaning staff, however, usually waited until after their employer was gone before tidying up the space, though his workroom was off limits.

After breakfast, Erik had taken my hand and led me to the awaiting limousine that was waiting outside, and we were off. To my surprise, we headed back to his office in the Opera House, this time for a thorough history lesson on the building he ran.

For two days straight, I was showered with hundreds of facts over the planning, building, and decorating of the Opera Garnier. The amount of work it had taken to achieve this wondrous creation was incredible, especially since many construction machines hadn't been invented yet. A great deal had been put in place by laborers heaving things with ropes, pulleys, and wooden boards, not to mention the artistic statues and paintings on the walls had to be carefully done by hand. I couldn't imagine how they managed to achieve some of the things they did, which made me stand in awe of those who had worked so hard to make this glorious building dedicated to opera.

The admiration instilled in me by Erik's lessons had an ulterior purpose, though. To my surprise, after one full day of historical learning, Erik insisted that I stay at his mansion instead of the hotel. I'd been shocked, of course, and had protested, but Erik claimed that he would be able to get a refund for my stay here in Paris, and that his house was very big and lonely with just him living there. Of course, my being the soft-hearted woman that I am, I felt pity for him and agreed to stay. However, I decided it might be best to have a few "conditions," just in case.

Before I could list those conditions, though, Erik solemnly swore not to be too forward or forceful in any way. Besides, the door to my room had a lock, and could be easily blocked with a chair so that, even if I thought the worst of him, there was no way Erik was going to get inside the room unless I let him. He also seemed like the kind of man who respected privacy, and since he'd given me the key to my own room, which he told me could be unlocked from the inside, I felt safe being alone with him in his home.

* * *

In the end, staying with Erik was the best decision I'd ever made. After a day of being together, Erik and I would go back to his mansion and have a quiet dinner (prepared by his invisible cook), reviewing everything I'd been taught throughout the day. With the meal over, Erik would then take me to the living room for a glass of wine while he played the piano for me. The music, along with the wine and the crackling fireplace, would always put me to sleep, and I would wake up feeling warm and safe, tucked safely in my bed in my guestroom the next morning. Never once did I feel as though I'd been violated during the night, nor afraid of what might have happened while I slept. 

Today, tucked safely in the crook of Erik's arm, I felt deliciously content. From the smirk on his face, it was clear that Erik was also happy; presently, his left arm was resting around my shoulders while his fingers stroked my left arm. Never had I felt so safe and loved in my life. It was incredible the way this man, whom I've only known for three days, could make me feel so special and needed. Huddled in his arms, I felt happier that I had ever been before.

* * *

Never in his wildest dreams had Erik ever thought that Alisa would stay with him in the mansion. He didn't know what had possessed him to ask her to stay, but stay she did, even though he knew she was probably uncomfortable with the fact that their rooms were so close. Every night, he was sure that it would be her last one there, especially since he carried her dozing form up to her room after and evening of music and wine together. Nothing happened between them, of course, but any rational woman would likely consider the idea that she might have been 'taken advantage of' in her sleep. 

However, Alisa remained in the mansion, in her own guest room, and since he'd given her the only key to the room, she probably felt safer knowing that the door could be locked from the inside to keep others out. That did nothing to stop Erik's deep-set fear of her leaving him, though.

As the limo pulled up to the front of the Opera House, Erik reluctantly removed his arm from around Alisa's shoulders and stepped out. Once his feet were firmly on the cement, he held his hand out and gently handed her onto the sidewalk, his heart pounding at the sight of her beaming up at him with a bright smile. Even the smallest smile from her lips was like warm, liquid sunlight on his skin.

'_I love her_,' he thought without hesitation. '_I love this smart, caring, beautiful woman who treats me as though I am the most wonderful, normal man in the world. She does not fear my mask or whatever may lie beneath it_.' He gave her a smile in return. '_Some day, I am going to marry this woman; of that I have no doubt_.'

"So…what are we doing today?" Alisa asked as she took his arm and followed him inside. "So far we've only sat in your office and learned about the Opera's history. What are your plans for today?"

"Today I give you a thorough tour of the Opera House," Erik declared, practically basking in the eager gleam coming from Alisa's eyes. "My dear, you truly light up a room when you smile like that." She blushed and gripped his arm tighter, which only pleased him more. "Now, first I will start with the main floor before moving back towards the dorms. Is that alright?"

"Oh, yes," she said eagerly. "I can't wait to see it all!"

* * *

Despite having been to the Opera Garnier three days straight, I still hadn't seen much beyond the main hallway, the auditorium, a bit of the backstage area, and Erik's office. Today, my handsome escort more than made up for it through my very own private tour. 

Erik showed me everything a true tourist could possibly want to see, dragging me from the tallest part of the rooftops down to the most hidden costume room there was. His musical voice described every little part of space, and how important each little prop and backdrop was to the productions; he also described what sort of work was being done in each and every room we passed by. I was shown art rooms, costume rooms, dance rooms, rooms for the chorus members and instrumentalists to practice in, and even large spaces where the technology crews put things together.

Within two hours, my head was spinning, and I desperately needed to sit down. Thankfully, at that moment, one of the dance choreographers needed to speak with Erik, so I was left alone and sitting on a chair in a prop room, where Erik had been about to explain the significance of each piece there. Lacking any sort of supervision, I took my time gazing around and inspecting everything around me.

Overly-decorated goblets, candlesticks, wax or paper fruit, paintings, and even foam bricks filled the room, and I amused myself by tossing a foam brick from one hand to another.

When that got old, I decided that I'd had enough of waiting for Erik to come back for me. Setting down the bricks on the table, I peeked outside into the hallway. There hung a clock, ticking away the time, and I saw to my surprise that over half an hour had passed. Rolling my eyes, I chose to go searching for Erik instead of waiting for him; considering that he'd been gone so long, and was last seen with a choreographer, I could probably get good directions to him. How hard could it possibly be to find the manager and owner of the Paris Opera House while he was in the actual building itself?

Just as I was heading down the hallway, however, a handkerchief clamped over my nose and mouth. I barely had time to realize what was happening before darkness filled my head and eyes.

* * *

For days he had observed her coming and going from the Opera House, her hands wrapped around Erik Garnier's arm or her fingers intertwined with his. It made his blood boil to see them so happy together, and so he had followed them everywhere they went within the confines of the building. Closely, he listened and watched while Monsieur Garnier taught Alisa everything there was to know about the Opera House…everything _except_ for the hidden caverns. 

Perhaps Garnier only wanted to protect Alisa from the dangers that lay below, such as the numerous twists and turns that a person could lose themselves in. Or perhaps it was the fact that she might fall into and drown in the underground lake, whose waters were freezing and were inhabited by strange fish and creatures that had not yet been recorded. It was possible that he wanted to protect her from all of these things…or it could be because of something different, something that Garnier wanted to keep secret from the woman he was so obviously falling in love with.

Whatever Garnier's secret was, it didn't matter; all that mattered was that, beyond what she saw in a film she obviously thought fictional, Alisa didn't know that the caverns existed in the first place. Taking this prime chance into his hands, he watched and waited for the perfect moment to strike. Garnier could not be with her all day; he had an Opera House to run and money to make off of the productions. It was only a matter of time before one of them made a mistake on one of their visits.

That was why he was ready to exploit Garnier's weakness: seeing to the Opera House itself.

Each time he encountered a problem during one of his trips to the Opera House, Garnier always had to fix it personally. This kept him in contact with his employees, and made the workers feel better knowing that he cared about them and what or how they did their jobs. So when one of the dance instructors had a problem with one of the rehearsals, Monsieur Garnier left poor Alisa all alone and unguarded in a prop room, promising to return shortly. Eventually, she became bored, as most people do, and decided to go find him, not bothering to look and see if she was being watched or followed.

Then, fully prepared as he was for such an event…he sprung.

* * *

I woke with a gritty taste in my mouth and my eyes slightly fogged over, causing me to shut my eyes once more. I also felt a bit lightheaded, but after a few cleansing breaths, as well as a few deep swallows, my head and throat cleared. Once I felt a bit better, I fluttered my eyelids until I could see once again, my eyes instantly glancing around the room I was in. 

Now I could smell dampness and hear the dripping of water. I noticed that I was lying on my left side in a large bed made of black wood, the mattress beneath me very soft. There was a very dim, soft, steady light coming from somewhere; I guessed it to be a light bulb, though there was probably only one of them. Opposite me there was a stone wall…no, not a stone wall, the wall of a _cave_! I was in a cave! Were there caves in Paris? Wait, weren't there caves located underneath the Opera House? I couldn't think of any other place I could be, so I decided to stick with the idea.

Suddenly, it hit me what had happened. '_I've been kidnapped_!' I thought, turning onto my back as I wondered why this had happened to me. I nearly shrieked when I saw who, or should I say _what_, was standing beside the bed.

The light was coming from behind him, but it was human, of that I was sure, as it had the form of a very tall man and was breathing. Although he was completely cast in shadow, I saw a large floppy hat on his head, the brim folded down over one half of his face. Strangely enough, he was wearing a floor-length cloak with a high-neck collar, and he (I was guessing it was a he) was breathing heavily.

"Hello, Alisa." The voice was definitely male, and the cold harshness of it caused shivers to go down my spine. "I'm happy to see you awake."

I swallowed hard. "Who are you?" I whispered while pushing myself backwards on the bed.

A _clink_ sound drew my eyes towards the foot of the bed, and to my horror, I saw that my feet were chained to the bedposts! Gasping in horror, I looked up at the man standing beside me. I watched as he lifted a hand and ran it through my hair, caressing it while he tucked it behind my right ear. After the last strand was styled to his liking, he reached towards the right side of the bed and switched on a light. A sound between a gasp of surprise, a scream of fear, and a cry of horror escape my lips.

The man beside me wore half of a mask over the left side of his face…and the right side was a mangled mess of twisted flesh.

* * *

Erik was in a panic. He knew that he'd left Alisa in the prop room, but now he could not find her. He'd been gone longer than he'd intended, almost an hour, as the choreographer wanted to be absolutely sure that the dance piece looked alright, but he had come straight back afterwards. 

A thorough questioning of the staff ended with no one having seen her, and now Alisa was gone, probably forever, and it was all his fault! In all likelihood, she'd gotten fed up with waiting and had left, never intending on seeing him again. Burying his head in his hands, Erik fell into a chair in his office and prepared to despair.

"Excuse me, monsieur," squeaked a small voice from his doorway. Erik lifted his head and saw one of the small cleaning girls standing there. Jena, he believed her name to be. The red-haired girl curtseyed and blushed shyly, but pulled herself together to speak to him. "Monsieur, I heard you asking about your lady, and I thought I saw a man carrying what looked like a girl earlier today." She pointed down the hallway. "It looked like he was taking it down towards the old dressing rooms." With that said, Jena vanished in a swirl of skirts. Meanwhile, Erik tried to process the information.

The old dressing rooms had been the original dressing rooms, all of which had been restored after the fire. However, they were no longer in use and were now standing empty, the new dressing rooms having been moved closer to the stage area to make things easer on both cast and crew during performances. There was nothing down near the old dressing rooms, so why had this stranger run down that hallway? There was no place to go…unless…

Biting back a curse, Erik leapt to his feet and ran in that direction.

* * *

"Does my face surprise you?" the man asked, his voice full of contempt as he stepped closer. "I'm sorry for the chains, my dear Alisa, but they are necessary." Now he was beside the bed. "After all, I could not have you running away from me before I could introduce myself." 

I knew that Erik had to be deformed underneath is mask, but he still had half of a face. This man's face was the definition of deformed, though the left half of it was covered up. The right side that I _could_ see was an odd, dusty shade of yellow that had a coat of gray; the underside of his right eye was pulled down by a thread of skin that was attached to the cheekbone. His lips were twisted and swollen, though they thinned out around the edge of his half-mask, and I could only imagine what his left side looked like; I could only guess that, if the mask were uncomfortable, the masked side was worse. Even his eyes were disturbing, their color a pale amber-yellow around black pupils.

"I won't hurt you, Alisa," he whispered as he bent over me, his hand reaching out to me even as I flinched back. "I would never hurt you."

My throat felt dry as I spoke. "Who…who are you?" I asked in a whisper, barely managing to swallow through the dryness. "What do you want?"

"I have a name, but do not use it. After all, what does a _monster_ like myself need with a name?" he spat before calming down. "As for what do I want?" he asked in an amused voice. "Well, I would think the answer was obvious."

I watched in horror as he placed a knee on the bed, his body coming to closer to mine. I could hear his breathing speed up, and from the way that his clothing shifted, I could see what, exactly, he wanted. One of his hands, clad in a black leather glove, reached out and placed itself on my hip before slipping underneath my shirt. I instantly gasped and grabbed his hand, pushing it away from me. His eyes flashed with a disturbing gleam as he leaned closer, his expression full of need and lust as he reached for me once again. His hands grabbed my shoulders and pinned me down to the bed, forcing the air from my lungs and leaving me gasping for breath as he forced himself on top of me.

"You will be mine, Alisa," he breathed as he leaned closer, his swollen lips coming closer to my own. "You will be my bride, my wife forever." I closed my eyes as his lips hovered a hairsbreadth above mine. "Love me, Alisa, I need you to love me…and let me _love you_."

"No!" I gasped, twisting away from him. "No, let me go!"

"Alisa-"

The stranger's voice cut off abruptly, and the next thing I felt was him being lifted off of me. Daring to look up, I saw Erik standing there, his face twisted in anger as he toss the unconscious man aside like a piece of trash.

"Erik!" I cried, my hands reaching for him. In an instant, his arms were around me, pressing me closer to his body. "Erik, my legs…he's chained my legs to the bed!"

* * *

Erik growled in anger and frustration before gently releasing Alisa's trembling form, his feet hurrying him over to the unconscious form of the other man. How dare he try and kidnap her! 

Thankfully, it had taken him mere moments to locate the hidden doorway that led down towards the caverns. Although most of the hidden doorways had been sealed shut decades ago to ward off curious tourists and thieves, Erik could pry this one open with little trouble. The reason he could open that particular door was obvious: Alisa's kidnapper had used it and unsealed it for him. Once he was in the caves, his feet easily carried him through the passages until he found himself in his former home. To his surprise, the place looked as though it were being lived in! Gone were the old, rotting furniture pieces he had left behind as he'd fled for safety, and in their places were new furnishings and even an electric generator! Electric lights were hung in numerous places for illumination, and to his surprise, the air wasn't as musty as it should have been.

His inspection of his former home had been interrupted at the sound of female cry of horror. Recognizing it as Alisa's voice, Erik wasted no time in finding the bedroom in the back of the cave, the one which had previously been his own. Listening at the door, he heard what sounded like a male voice speaking to someone that was probably Alisa. He had been standing outside the doorway when he heard her gasp in disgust and fear, something inside him snapped. Bursting into the room, Erik found the cloaked kidnapper forcing himself onto the woman he loved, and, using his bare hands, he grabbed the stranger, slamming his fist into the side of his head and knocking him unconscious. Now he needed to get the keys off of him in order to free the weeping Alisa lying on the bed. Turning the other man over, Erik bit back a cry of shock.

Before him lay a man in a mask, a poor soul had a facial disfigurement that covered the entirety of his face. Pulling off the hat, Erik saw that at least he had a full head of brown hair, though that probably didn't comfort the other man very much. As much as he wanted to pity the unconscious man before him, a whimper of fear from the bed reminded him of what he was there fore. Searching the man thoroughly, Erik located the keys to the chains and quickly ran to free Alisa before scooping her up into his arms.

Without a single look back, Erik carried his precious love up to the Opera House and to safety.

* * *

AN: I'm going to try and wrap this story up, as it seems that no one wants to read it. Please review! 


	8. The Past Revealed

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Phantom of the Opera_**. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Sorry about what happened in the last chapter, but I promise that was the worst of it! I was going to make this more adult, but now I don't think I will. Anyway, after this story is over, please keep an eye out for another Phantom fic I'm going to post! Thanks, and please review!

**Chapter 8: The Past Revealed:**

It wasn't long before he emerged from the newly-inhabited lair, his precious burden sobbing into his shoulder. Although he wanted to give her something to make her sleep, just so he could go back and dispose of the creature who took her, Erik wasn't about to leave Alisa alone in the Opera House for more than a split second.

'_He could easily find her and take her from me again, and there is no way that I will let that happen_,' he thought to himself as he emerged into his own office via a secret passage.

Thank goodness he remembered that his office still had a passageway connected to it, one he kept open in case of a fire or emergency. If people saw him carrying a hysterical Alisa through the halls, there would be many uncomfortable questions, most of which he would not be able to answer. The best thing he could do was calm her down, take her back to the mansion, and…

'_And what_?' Erik asked himself. '_What do I do once I get her to my home_? _How do I explain my knowing the caverns like the back of my hand_?'

There had to be a way to convince Alisa that he had knowledge of the underground caves, but it would all be lies. Taking a deep breath, Erik pushed open the hidden doorway to the interior of his office and stepped inside, grateful that there was no one there waiting for him. Using the heel of his shoe, he kicked the door shut and carried Alisa over to the couch in the center of the large room. Kneeling down slowly, Erik gently placed her onto the soft, velvet-like cushions and removed his right arm from beneath her knees. Raising his fingers to her head, he gently combed them through her hair.

"Alisa?" he gently asked. She whimpered in response. "Alisa, I'm going to fetch you something to quiet your nerves." The arms she had around his neck tightened their grip. "I swear to not leave this room. Instead, I will go to the alcohol cabinet and pour you a bit of whiskey. Is that alright?"

The head underneath his chin nodded, and, reluctantly, Erik pulled himself away, swiftly moving to the other side of the room to pour a glass of the amber liquid. Hesitating for only a moment, he poured himself one as well, carrying both glasses back to the couch and offering one to the trembling form that was his love. When she did not take it, Erik set his own glass down and knelt beside her, wrapping his left arm back over her shoulders and pulling her close while his right hand brought the glass to her lips.

"Here, drink this," he whispered. Alisa moved her face away. "Please, darling, you need this. I need you to drink this."

Her brown eyes turned back towards him, looking him up and down for any sign of false pretense. Finding none, she puckered her lips and began to take a shaky sip. She coughed after the first swallow, indicating that she'd never had such powerful stuff before in her life, but bravely took another drink once she'd settled down. When half of it was gone, her nerves had settled, and she stopped trembling in his arms.

Satisfied that Alisa was at least partially calm, Erik reached over to the table and picked up a small, black device that had a large red button on the top. Pressing it and holding it down, he waited. Soon, a small beep could be heard, giving him the exact signal that he wanted. Satisfied, he set the device down and turned towards Alisa, who was now giving him a scared, puzzled look. He gave her a soft, reassuring smile before speaking in a tone that was just as gentle.

"I've called for the limo to pick us up at the rear of the building," he said while pulling her close. "It will be here in moments to take us back to my home. Is that alright?" To his relief, she nodded. "Can you walk, or do you need to be carried?"

Instead of letting her answer, however, Erik merely took her half-empty glass and set it on the table before sweeping her up into his arms.

* * *

The entire trip between Erik's office at the Opera House to his house was a blur to me. I knew that people were stopping to look at me being carried around in his arms, and that Erik was giving out vague explanations, but other than that, I couldn't remember anything. All that I knew was that Erik was taking me someplace safe and as far away from the Opera House as possible. During the ride to the mansion, I could hear Erik calling people on his cell phone through my daze. I managed to figure out that he was sending people to do things, such as fetch us dinner, drinks, and other comforting things from town, since food began appearing not long after we pulled up to the front door. 

Before I knew it, I was inside the living room and seated before the roaring fireplace, a warm blanket wrapped over and around me as Erik fussed over my every need. A rather elaborate meal was spread across the floor like a fancy picnic, the smells reaching my nose and tickling it with delicious temptation. The growl coming from my stomach indicated that I needed to eat something, but I wasn't sure if I would be able to handle it.

"You must eat," Erik whispered as though he were reading my mind. He then sat down to my right, on the other side of the feast he'd ordered for us. "Come, you will like the soup; it will do you good."

The kind, caring look in his green eyes made me open my mouth and accept the spoonful of soup he was offering me. I quickly opened my mouth and accepted it; as I swallowed it, I was pleased with the savory tomato broth flavored with herbs and spices. Obediently, I ate the whole bowlful, though I didn't taste much of it after the first few sips. Erik tried to get me to eat more, and in order to not waste the food, I began to nibble my way through the numerous dishes set out before me. It was nothing fancy, but since it was French cuisine, I felt obligated to eat it, as Erik must have paid quite a bit for them.

There were some bread slices with various toppings, as well as miniature quiches and croissants, both stuffed with melted cheese, bacon, vegetables, and other things. Little fruit tarts with whipped cream and cherries on top, served with a bottle of fine red wine, accompanied everything. It was quite elegant, and even though I could hardly taste anything through my shock, I greatly appreciated the gesture and told Erik so. His face seemed to light up when I complimented his food choices.

"It is all basic comfort food, my dear," he said, gathering the dishes and standing up, setting them aside on a table near the door before returning to his spot beside me. "I am glad that you liked it."

I gave him a small smile, but did not answer, instead turning my head towards the fireplace. We sat there for a moment in silence, staring at the dancing flames. In the depths of my mind, I tried to understand what had happened, tried to think of who could do such a thing to me. The thought that I'd almost been forced upon by a strange, terrifying man left me feeling cold, as though a part of me had been taken away and that I would never get it back. It made me shiver.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped themselves around me, pulling me against a warm body. Instinctively, I leaned into the embrace and pressed my right ear to his chest, savoring the comfort that Erik was trying to give me. Through the thin material of his shirt, I could feel his heart beat and the heat that came from his skin. A moment later, I heard his voice humming a soothing song to me, causing his chest to vibrate pleasantly beneath my ear.

All of those things together stopped the shakes that wracked my body, the sound of Erik's wonderful voice slowing down the fearful pounding of my heart. His hands drifted in soothing circles along my back, his fingers seeming to pull the tense feelings out of my muscles so that I was practically a limp doll in his arms. To my surprise, Erik gently shifted his position, laying us down onto the floor and stretching out with me next to him, his left arm cradling my head to his chest as we both lay there before the warmth of the fireplace. My back soon became very warm, as it was facing the fire, but I found it cozy rather than unpleasant.

"Feeling better?" Erik whispered as his right hand came up and tangled his fingers into my hair.

I sighed and snuggled closer to him, my head still on his chest as he held me tightly. How long we lay there, I didn't know, but what I _felt_ was that I was in quite possibly the safest place the world had to offer. Erik made me feel protected, like a person with an angel watching over them; his arms were like sheltering wings, driving away the evils that tried to harm me, and his voice wove a warm blanket to drive away the cold and the pain.

Erik's voice was a soft whisper as he spoke to me. "Alisa…" Tilting my head up, I found myself staring into deep, sorrowful green eyes. "Alisa, there is something I must tell you, even though I fear that you will never believe my words and turn away from me after you have heard them."

I gave him a soft smile. "I could never turn away from you, Erik," I whispered, my hand coming up to caress the left side of his face. His eyes were hopeful as I spoke something I had realized several days ago. "I couldn't do that because…" I could feel Erik's chest stop, holding his breath as my voice trailed into a pause before I continued. "I love you."

A tremendous breath escaped his lungs in relief, his arms wrapping themselves tighter as he pulled me towards him, crushing his lips against mine as he sought to claim me as his own.

* * *

She loved him! Alisa, the beautiful, kind angel in his arms that was too happy to return his kiss, was in love with him! Him, the man who was once the Devil's Child and the Phantom of the Opera! 

The last thought stilled his heart, sending ice through his veins. His past was still a concern; sooner or later, she had to wonder about how he had managed to rescue her so quickly from the madman beneath the Opera House.

'_How ironic_,' he thought, reluctantly pulling himself away from the kiss he had been sharing with his beloved. '_I am now the heroic prince and another is the evil monster that desires the love of a woman_ _to save him from his solitude_!'

Taking a deep breath, Erik closed his eyes and savored this moment, fearing it might be his last with the woman who had his heart.

* * *

I could tell something was wrong when Erik broke our kiss. There was an air of sadness around him where there had once been joy, though I could tell that he returned my love with a vengeance. Through the torrent of emotions that surrounded him, I could sense that hesitance and fear were what occupied his heart now. Why he would feel that way was a mystery, and in order to drive away his pain, I knew I had to find out what he was keeping hidden from me. But before I could ask, Erik himself deemed it necessary to tell it of his own will. 

"Alisa," he whispered, his hand coming up to rest on my face. "Alisa, there is something you must know about me…about my past…"

Fear that was the mirror image of Erik's filled my heart. "What is it, Erik?" I asked slowly.

He sighed and took my hand in his, pressing it against his chest. "My love, do you not wonder how I managed to find you in a labyrinth of underground caverns? Caverns that no one is supposed to have been through in decades?"

Now that I thought about it, it was a bit strange. "Well, you are the owner of the Opera House," I slowly replied. "It would make sense for you to know about them…"

"Yes, but these caves and passageways were never fully mapped out," Erik said, avoiding my eyes by staring at my hand, the one he had a firm grip on against his chest. "The caverns that had been recorded are only a small fraction of what lies beneath my Opera Populaire."

"The Opera Populaire?" I asked, confused about the change in the building's name. "I thought it was called The Paris Opera House?"

"The Paris Opera House is what it is known as in _this_ century," Erik said, his voice changing as he spoke. "The Opera Populaire is what it was called a long time ago, during the Victoria Era…the Era in which I was born."

The grip he had on both me and my hand tightened, as though he thought that I was going to run. I was very close to doing so, considering that Erik's kind voice had turned darker and more mysterious than I'd ever heard it before. It was as though his very being was becoming a different person, a cloak of possessiveness and deep-rooted need wrapping itself around his shoulders as he pushed me onto my back. My shoulders were soon pressed down to the carpet as Erik positioned himself on top of me, preventing me from moving even an inch.

"Alisa," he whispered. "I was born to my mother during the reign of Queen Victoria of England."

I blinked up at him in disbelief. "But that's impossible," I whispered. "You'd have to be…"

"Very close to two centuries old," Erik replied, one hand lifting to comb his fingers through my hair. "My mother, having been widowed after my father's riding accident, could not bear the sight of the twisted son she bore soon after the death of her husband. It did not help that, as I grew older, my hair and eye colors were my father's."

He sighed and continued. "It probably would not have been so bad if I had been born whole, instead of with half a face. Instead, I had to bear the brunt of my mother's anger and sorrow at not being able to have a beautiful, perfect child that was the image of the man she had loved so dearly."

"What happened?" I asked, becoming lost in the story. I didn't care whether or not he was telling the truth about being centuries old; I just wanted to hear him speak about his life.

"She sold me to the gypsies," Erik whispered, tears forming in his eyes as he closed them. "For a small bag of coins, I was sold to the gypsies as an attraction to bring in money and make them wealthy. I never saw her again…well, not living, anyway." He opened his eyes and sighed. "I visit her, sometimes, at the little church graveyard she's buried in right next to my father. She died not long after she'd sold me, probably of a broken heart from losing my father."

Like any compassionate woman, I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a hug. Erik returned the gesture with a vengeance, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he pulled me closer to him. He didn't release me, even as he continued his story.

"I was pulled through many different countries and cities, attracting hundreds of people to the caravan each night," he murmured into my hair. "Then, one night in Paris, a group of ballet dancers came to see me, The Devil's Child, trapped in a cage. Antoinette…she saved me from the mob that night, after I had destroyed the man who tormented and beat me. The little ballerina brought me to the Opera Populaire and became my only and dearest friend. Dear, dear Antoinette Giry…"

'_The Devil's Child_? _Gypsies_? _Antoinette Giry_? ' I thought. '_Wait, isn't that the story of_…'

Erik sighed again into my hair before pulling back to look me in the eye. "You know what happened to me after that, my love," he said, caressing my face with his hand. "You know it because you have seen it and heard the music that I wrote for it, the ones I gave to the composer, Andrew Lloyd Webber, over twenty years ago."

* * *

For a few moments, he watched as Alisa processed the information he'd given her. Her facial expressions danced between disbelief, confusion, pity, and…could that be…awe? 

"You're the Phantom of the Opera?" she whispered, her voice oddly childish in tone. "Then how can you be alive after all this time?"

"I **_was_** the Phantom of the Opera," he corrected. "As to how I am still alive…well…believe it or not, it is due to a magic spell." He watched as an amused smile tugged at her lips. Strangely enough, he returned it. "Ah, you should not laugh at things you do not understand, my sweetness."

"Then tell me about it, O Phantom," she teased, though her smile was honest and true.

Erik shook his head. "It was foolish of me to try it," he said. "I was 25-years-old, I had been looking through the library of the Populaire and discovered a text filled with what appeared to be magic spells. Since I was dreadfully bored, I took it to my home and experimented with it by casting a spell to light a fire that would burn even the wettest piece of wood. To my amazement, it worked, and as I became arrogant of my success, I decided to try a more advanced spell…a spell to bring me my soulmate."

Alisa's eyes widened as Erik continued. "At first, I did not think it had worked," he said, twirling a lock of her hair around his fingers. "Then, two years later, Madame Giry returned to the Populaire with an orphaned little girl in hand."

"Christine," Alisa stated, and he could swear that she looked angry. "Silly twit didn't know what she missed out on." She blushed as those words left her mouth.

He chuckled. "True as that may seem, it was not until after she left with her Vicompt that I realized that she was not the one for me." Erik continued to toy with her hair. "After she left, I nearly killed myself in my despair, fearing that I would never find someone to love me as I so desperately wanted."

Alisa gasped, as though she feared he would do himself harm at that moment. Erik smiled and kissed her forehead in reassurance. "You feared what happened next, though you need not do so. I was spoken to by a higher power, either the magic of the spell itself or someone/something else, which declared that I was not to die until I found the other half of my heart." He looked into her eyes.

"Is it…me?" she squeaked, staring up at him in disbelief. "You've been waiting all of this time, through so much heartache and loneliness, for _me_?"

"Yes," he answered, bringing his lips closer to hers. "And now I have found you. Through many lifetimes, through numerous identities that Madame Giry, her daughter, and her granddaughters created for me, and through writing that half-truthful production about my life to discredit Leroux's horrid book…yes, Alisa, I have waited all this time just to find _you_."

* * *

Not hesitating one second, I kissed him. It didn't matter if I believed him or not; I just knew that he loved me as much as I loved him. In my heart, though, I could feel the truthfulness of his words. And as fantastic and story-like as it was, I could _feel_ the connection I had with the man whose body was stretched out above me. 

Sighing, I melted into the carpet as Erik deepened the kiss, his hands wondering up and down my body, slipping underneath my shirt to caress my skin. I gasped, allowing his tongue to slip inside and stroke against my own. Above me, Erik groaned, his hands moving further up my body to brush against the edge of my shoulder blade. I heard him inhale sharply when he discovered that I wasn't wearing anything underneath my shirt, and to my surprise, he pulled away from me quickly.

"I'm sorry, angel," he whispered, sliding his hands out of my clothes.

"It's alright," I said, smiling despite the fact that I felt a bit disappointed that we hadn't gone a bit further.

Erik then leaned over and nuzzled my neck. "I'm sorry…it's just…I do not want to dishonor you before…" He paused.

I held my breath. "Before what, Erik?" I whispered as he pulled back to gaze down at me.

Looking up into his eyes, I saw that he was nervous. "Before…" He gulped and sighed, closing his eyes as though he were preparing for something horrible to happen. "Before…we were married."

My jaw dropped. Had he just asked me to marry him? Suddenly, a brilliant diamond ring appeared before me, an oval-shaped diamond that flickered blue in the evening light. It was sat perched on a platinum band, and on either side of the jewel was a decorative 'S'-shaped swirl and three tiny diamonds. It was breathtaking, and I couldn't hold back a gasp of surprise.

Wordlessly, Erik slipped the ring over my finger and kissed it.

* * *

Alisa hadn't said that she accepted his proposal, but she hadn't refused, either. If her enthusiastically given kiss and embrace were any indication, though, Erik would have to say that she did, in fact, want to marry him. Pulling her on top of him, Erik broke the kiss and sighed in contentment as Alisa laid her head on his shoulder, her hand rubbing up and down his chest. The movement was soothing, and before either one of them knew what was happening, they had fallen asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

* * *

AN: Aw, they're engaged! I hope it's not too soon for all of you. Please review! 


	9. Down Once More

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to **_Phantom of the Opera_** (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers). See?

AN: This story will be coming to a close in a chapter or two. I know that people want it to go on, but the truth is, I've lost interest in the story (yes, it does happen, even to the best of us). However, I've got a newer, better idea for a Phantom story, one that will be much more fun than this one, so keep an eye out for it! Also, please review while you still can! Thanks!

**Chapter 9: Down Once More:**

A week after Alisa's abduction and rescue, Erik reluctantly brought her back to the Opera House. Once he was sure that she had recovered from the trauma, and after she had insisted on some 'new scenery,' he'd brought her out into public and let her show off her engagement ring to the world. Of course, when a person is getting married, it doesn't take a great deal of effort to let others know.

In this case, it didn't take long for word of the engagement to circulate around the Opera House. He shouldn't have been surprised, but considering how everything he did became immediate news, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Instead, Erik let his employees gossip, the girls giggling and the men winking at him as he passed by them in the hallway. The older women, namely the ones who resembled nosy grandmothers, were all giving him approving nods.

"It's about time he found someone!" he overheard one of them say. "Poor man, he deserves to be happy! Never mind that they've only known each other a few days; as long as that pretty young thing keeps Monsieur Garnier happy, that's all that matters!"

Sighing, Erik shook his head and walked towards his office, the place where he had left his fiancée to her own devices while he checked how things were going in the Opera House. The passageway to his office, which he had once held open for emergencies, had been sealed by his own hands just after Alisa's rescue. It had nearly killed him to leave Alisa alone in the mansion, but it had be long before dawn when he'd left, and he had returned just before she'd woken up.

'_Thank goodness I'd put her into her own bed that night_,' Erik thought with a sigh as he approached his doorway. '_She would have been upset if she'd woken and found me gone_!'

Besides, poor Alisa had suffered enough because of him. If he had just searched the underground caves, perhaps he would have discovered the other man sooner and none of this would have happened!

'_On the other hand, if I hadn't saved her from that…man...I would never have proposed to her and we would not be engaged_.'

It was a very valid point. Now he and Alisa had marriage plans to discuss.

* * *

I tossed aside another bridal magazine in frustration. Most of them were in French, and since Erik was out overseeing the Opera House, I was alone without a translator. When we'd been at the mansion, Erik had stacks of English bridal magazines brought there for me to look at, but here, for some reason, there were only French ones. While I liked the pictures of the wedding dresses, cakes, and floral arrangements, I very much wanted to read the descriptions so that I knew what all of them contained. 

"How am I supposed to pick out a dress when I didn't know what it's made out of?" I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest, pouting.

A warm chuckle from the doorway caught my attention, and I grinned as Erik came to sit beside me, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me into his lap.

"My poor angel," he crooned as I tucked my head underneath his chin. "I will have to start teaching you French soon, so that you may survive here without me."

I snorted in amusement. "You'd _better_ teach me soon," I said while snuggling closer to him. "Imagine all the trouble I could get into just by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time!"

He chuckled again and held me tighter. "Well, show me the dresses you have found, and I will translate," he said.

Reluctantly pulling myself out of his arms, I picked up one of the magazines and flipped it open to a page that had the corner folded down. I then sank back into my original position in his lap and watched his gorgeous green eyes scan over the picture. The dress had a beautiful corset-like bodice, intricately stitched with shimmering embroidery and which glittered a great deal. From the hips down, the skirt flared out into a wide satin skirt that ended just above the toes. The skirt stretched back a foot or two, trailing behind the bride. A long, gauzy veil and a tiara topped off the whole thing.

"I like this one," I said.

Erik translated what the dress was made out of, and I winced. The list included hand-sewn crystals, diamonds, and lace from Venice, Italy, which probably made it _very_ expensive. I knew that either one of us could afford it, but I felt terrible about spending so much for a dress that I would wear only once!

"You deserve to look beautiful on our wedding day, my love," Erik whispered to me as he pressed a kiss to my cheek. "If this is the dress that you want, I will have it done for you."

I sighed and let his lips move down towards my neck. "You're sure?" I whispered.

He merely hummed as he began to nuzzle my skin.

* * *

In the back of his mind, he saw red. Alisa, his dear, sweet Alisa, was marrying Erik Garnier! 

'_How could this have happened_?' he thought as he made his way down towards the staff area.

The passageway stopped at a central point in the Opera House, right where all of the workers gathered together to trade stories, share jokes, or just gossip about anything and anyone. Today, however, there was only gossip, and all of it focused on one thing: the engagement of Erik Garnier.

"I _knew_ they would marry!" cried a maid as she punched a stagehand playfully in the shoulder. "You owe me ten francs, Thomas!"

The man rolled his eyes and handed over the money. "You and your woman's intuition," he said.

All of the other women laughed and began talking about how wonderful it was that their boss was finally going to settle down, thankfully not with one of the empty-headed twits that threw themselves at him. The employees could only imagine what kind of nightmare that a greedy, stupid girl would do once she thought that the Opera House was hers to command as well!

"She's an American, but she's a good one!" chirped a young boy as he danced around.

"Pretty, too!" an old man laughed as he joined the boy in a dance.

Growling, he turned around and headed back towards the manager's office. True, Garnier had tried to seal it up, but it was a simple matter getting the thing open again, especially from the inside. After peeking into the room and finding it empty, he saw a bridal magazine lying open on the table, a sticky note placed to mark the page. Feeling curious, he slipped inside and picked it up.

'_It's her wedding gown_,' he thought as he opened it up to the page. '_Her ideal wedding gown_…'

Grinning broadly, he memorized the photo and placed the magazine back on the table before disappearing into the passageway.

* * *

As days passed into weeks, I began to realize how hard it is to plan a wedding, especially when in a foreign country! Erik wanted a wedding planner, since it would be far too stressful for us to do it on our own, but it was nearly impossible to find someone who spoke English. I didn't want Erik to be constantly translating for me, since he had to work at the Opera House, but I knew I couldn't plan a wedding on my own, either. The whole thing left me near tears until, finally, a few of the English-speaking maids offered to help translate for me to the wedding planner…for a little pay-bonus. 

Many stressful days followed after Erik announced our engagement to the Opera House. I had to phone home to explain to my mother that I was getting married, which threw her into a rage. After she had calmed down, she'd demanded to be on the guest list, after which I hung up on her. Thank goodness she didn't have caller ID, otherwise I'd never have heard the end of it! Other calls went out to my lawyer back home, who congratulated me on my marriage while he agreed to close up my apartment, "tie up" matters back home, and send my things to Erik's house.

Meanwhile, Erik had his 'people' make calls to caterers, florists, and a bakery for the wedding cake. After sampling a dozen different types of cake, Erik and I had both decided on a white cake flavored with orange cream and covered in white roses. Erik had sketched what we both wanted the cake to look like, and since the pastry chef liked the design of it so much, he agreed to do it our way.

Today was one of those stressful days, though it had actually gone better than a few previous ones. The dress had been ordered a week ago, and today I had been called to try it on. To my horror, the corset-bodice was far too tight, and I felt like a fat cow when I tried it on. The seamstresses had looked at each other in confusion before explaining (through one of the Opera House maids I'd brought with me) that they had accidentally written down the wrong measurements. I had nodded and agreed to come back in another week for part two of the fitting. Thankfully, they decided to cut the price of the dress down a bit, since it was their fault that it didn't fit in the first place.

After leaving the dress shop, I had come straight to the Opera House, hoping to surprise Erik with a visit. He had told me not to come inside unescorted, fearing that my kidnapper would try again, but since he had been defeated before, surely he would not try again. So, alone and unguarded, I slipped upstairs towards Erik's office.

* * *

He could not believe that Garnier would be so foolish as to let his precious fiancée wander the halls of the Opera House, all alone and unguarded. For weeks he had watched as Garnier hovered over Alisa's shoulder, making sure that she was safe and unharmed; the girl couldn't even go to the women's room without a female being inside there already! 

'_Well, if they're going to make it easy for me_…' He grinned savagely. '_Why not accept their gift_?'

* * *

Once again, I woke to the scents of water and wet stone, the air heavy and full of moisture. There was a dull ache in my head, and the effort of opening my eyes took all of the strength I had. It would be worth the effort, though, to see where I was. I had a good idea of what had happened, though. Biting back a groan, I opened my eyes. When I saw the stone wall, I bit back another groan. 

I was back in the cave and in the black wooden bed, and when I gathered more strength to move my feet, I didn't hear or feel any chains on them this time. Sighing, I closed my eyes again and tried to collect my thoughts. If Erik found out that I had come to the Opera House and was no where to be seen, he was bound to figure out where I was. He would probably be angry, but that would come later on, after we were safely home.

"Are you awake, my lovely bride?" a familiar voice asked. Before I could stop myself, I sighed in annoyance, though I didn't answer. "Hmm, I shall take that as a 'yes'."

Hands roughly slipped themselves underneath my body and swept me up. I squeaked in surprise, my eyes instinctively going to look at my captor prior, then to looking in the direction he was heading. Struggling against his grip was useless; he was unusually strong, and his fingers and arms held me against him even as my hands beat against his shoulders and chest.

"You will not escape, Alisa," he said, keeping his tone unusually soft, as though he were trying to sooth me. "You are here for one reason, which will be fulfilled tonight."

I whimpered as he carried me into another room and gently set me on my feet. It was a room where the walls were covered in red silk, the bed wrapped in black sheets, looking like a void of darkness in the dim light of the room. I felt as though I were in the most sinister bedroom in the world, and it scared me.

"Get dressed," my captor ordered, pressing a dress into my hands.

Looking at it, I felt ready to faint. The dress was a blood red.

* * *

"What do you mean you brought her to the Opera House?" Erik roared at his chauffeur. "I gave you strict orders to take her home right after the fitting!" 

The other man winced and quickly babbled a reply, claiming that "the mademoiselle wished to meet with her fiancée in secret, hoping to surprise him." It was the worst thing that could have happened, and Erik was ready to rip something in two.

"Wait in the car outside," Erik snarled, pointing to the door of his office.

The man nodded and, for good reason ran out of the room, terrified that he had upset his employer to the point of losing his job. Anyone who failed to carry out the orders of Erik Garnier tended to lose their job almost instantaneously; small mistakes he could forgive, but sheer idiocy meant looking for work elsewhere. After the driver had brought Alisa to the Opera House two hours ago, no one had seen her since she had walked through the main entrance and headed up towards his office.

Groaning, Erik hung his head. He knew that there was only one place that Alisa could be, and he was reluctant to go down there. He'd been lucky that the first time, considering he'd taken one of the tunnels that he himself had hidden, assuring that no one else would ever find and use it. This time, he wasn't so sure about the rescue attempt he was going to do. However, the other man didn't appear to carry any sort of weapon, so Erik decided to bring the only one he knew how to use.

* * *

Standing behind the dressing screen, I was trembling as I pulled the dress on, fearing for my life. The horrible dress was elegantly cut, and would have been a lovely gown, had it been any other color than this. In fact…it closely resembled the wedding gown I had picked out… 

"Come out when you are done," my captor commanded, his voice harsh. "Hurry!"

I wanted to stay hidden behind that screen forever, but knew it would be unwise to anger him. Taking a deep breath, I swallowed hard to calm my nerves before walking out into the room. My eyes caught sight of his face, the muscles and skin shifting as his lips pulled up into a smile.

"Beautiful," he whispered as he walked up to me, his arms moving to slide around me. I stepped back, but it was useless as his hands shot out and grabbed my arms, pulling me fully against his body. "My bride...why do you fear me?" he asked while moving his head down towards my face. "Do you not like the gown I had made for you? Red really does suit you far better than white…"

I whimpered and turned away as his hands drifted around my waist. I could feel the heat of his breath on my cheek and feared that he would try to kiss me. While I both feared and pitied the man, there was no possible way that I was going to allow him to kiss me! The man had practically forced himself upon me while claiming that I was his bride; merely thinking about being his forced, captive wife gave me chills. He, however, thought the shivers were from something else entirely.

"Cold, my dear?" he whispered. "Or do you shiver for another reason?" Suddenly, a small cheeping sound filled the cavern, and he growled. "So, your dear fiancé wishes to save you once again?"

A cry of pain burst from my lips as my kidnapper pulled my arms behind me and tied them with something he pulled out of his pocket. I was then picked up and hurled over his shoulder as he carried me into the main cavern, throwing me onto a couch before stalking off into another room. I waited alone in the silent room, holding my breath to see what would happen next and praying for Erik.

All of a sudden, a section of the wall opened and Erik emerged, an angry and determined look on his face. In fact, he looked ready to hurt something…or someone. I hissed, hoping to get his attention, and was rewarded when he turned those wonderful eyes of his looked in my direction. I jerked my head towards the hallway that the stranger had left from, and Erik nodded. He then gave me a puzzled look, to which I replied with a slight turn, showing him my bound hands. To my surprise, instead of hiding or going after the other man, Erik came straight for me, probably to help free me.

"Don't you touch her!"

Erik and I turned towards the voice just as the masked man tackled Erik to the ground.

* * *

All Erik could hear was Alisa screaming for him, calling for him to be careful even as he grappled with the twisted man who was trying to beat the life out of him. 

"You can't have her!" the other man cried, his hands moving to strangle Erik.

In the back of his mind, Erik knew that he was in trouble. However, unable to reach the Punjab Lasso tucked inside his shirt, all Erik had to fight with were his own hands. So, taking a deep breath, he launched a punch at the other man's stomach, knocking the air out of him and sending him sprawling on the damp, cold stone ground. While the other man gasped for breath, Erik reached inside his shirt and threw the noose over his enemy's head.

A sudden sense of familiarity filled Erik's mind. The feel of the lasso, something which he had not held for well over a century, drew long-forgotten memories into his mind. He remembered killing the cruel gypsy-leader who had beaten and starved him while the other 'freaks' ate well and laughed at his face. _That_ murder had been justified, for Erik could not imagine spending a lifetime being exploited while others took pleasure in his misery.

Another memory was that of Joseph Buquet, his red face bloated from too much drinking and his limp body dangling above the stage of the Populaire during the performance of Il Muto. The old stagehand had not only been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he had also done his best to grope and harass every dancer and chorus girl in the Populaire. If Erik hadn't killed the drunkard, then surely the alcohol he consumed on an hourly basis would have, though far more painfully.

Now Erik was prepared to kill again, this time to save the woman he loved. Expertly grasping the rope in his hands, he prepared to snap the lasso into place, effectively killing the gasping, struggling man. As his fingers tangled themselves into place, a voice rang out.

"Erik, don't!" Alisa cried. "Don't kill him, please!"

Then, something inside him died. The lust and need to kill his rival shattered at the sound of his beloved's voice. But a fire still burned within his heart, telling him that something must be done to keep Alisa safe and away from the grasp of this man.

'_Death is not the answer_,' Erik thought, his hands gripping the rope. '_Not tonight_..._**but**…something must be done_…'

Nodding to himself, he pulled.

* * *

I nearly fainted when I saw Erik strangle the gasping figure of the other man. I had cried out for Erik to spare him, but it was clear that he did not wish to. Instead, I watched the noose tighten around my captor's throat until he collapsed to the ground. Whimpering, I tore my eyes away from the sight. A moment later, I heard Erik get up and approach me, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder. 

"It's alright…I did not kill him, _petite_," he said, keeping his voice soft as he spoke.

I looked up at him before turning my gaze towards the figure on the ground. Sure enough, his chest was rising and falling as he lived and breathed. A choked sob tore itself from my throat as Erik freed my hands and put them around his neck.

"Come, Alisa," he whispered as he carried me out of the caves. "Let me take you home."

Sniffling, I looked up at him through my tears. "Erik?" Green eyes looked down at me. "Can we get married soon?"

Erik pressed a soft kiss to my temple as we ascended towards the Opera House. "Anything you like, my love," he said.

* * *

AN: Next chapter is an epilogue, and then this story will be over. The next fic should be up soon, probably in a week or less. **_Review_**! 


	10. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Phantom of the Opera_**. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Well, here is the final chapter. Thanks to everyone who read this and a huge thank-you to those who reviewed; it made me feel better knowing that at least some people enjoyed it. My newest story should be up sometime this week/next week, depending. Thanks again, and please review!

**Epilogue**:

In the weeks that followed Alisa's second abduction, Erik kept his fiancée as far away from the Opera House as possible until their wedding day. In fact, he shocked his employees by taking a "leave of absence" from work, which was a first in the twenty-odd years he had been the building's owner. Of course, Erik wasn't stupid enough to explain _why_ he was taking a vacation from his beloved Opera House: he merely stated that he wanted to spend time with Alisa and to plan their wedding.

The wedding of Erik Garnier to Alisa Chapman was a grand affair, the ceremony being held at a lovely church and the reception/ball held in the ballroom of Erik's mansion. In each invitation, the guests had been asked to wear formal clothes to the ceremony, but were also asked to bring a costume for the masquerade that being held after the dinner. Since Alisa didn't have very many people that she wanted to invite to the wedding, most of those attending were friends and/or business associates of the groom. However, Alisa did invite her childhood best friend, Anne, who was her Maid of Honor.

On their wedding day, Erik wore a black tux and his half-white mask while Alisa drifted down the aisle in her glorious wedding gown. The church was full of white roses and lilies, the air perfumed with their scent as Alisa walked along the red carpeting, a bouquet of white and red roses tied with a black ribbon in her hands. For Erik, the ceremony was particularly unique, for as he exchanged a kiss with his beloved bride, he could feel the spell binding him to eternal life fading from his very being.

In choosing costumes for the masquerade ball, Erik, of course, decided to go as the Phantom of the Opera, though no one but the bride knew that he, in fact, had been the real thing. Alisa chose to go as a sea nymph, dressed in a lovely costume made of blue-green silk and gauze. There was a great deal of dancing, laughter, and joy that night, and before it was over, Alisa had to escort her slightly tipsy Maid of Honor to her room to keep the poor thing from embarrassing herself in front of the male wedding guests. Fortunately, Alisa was able to do so without any incidences, shutting and locking her friend's door behind her…for safety purposes, of course.

Right up through their honeymoon in Spain and Venice, a dark cloud had hung over both Erik and Alisa - a fear that a certain figure would appear to stop them from being married. To be safe, Erik had been glued to Alisa's side, never leaving her until the night before the wedding; he had then set extra security to surround the church and his estate. In the end, everyone merely thought all of this was to keep the press away from Alisa and the ceremony, so they weren't suspicious of it at all.

After the wedding, as the weeks drifting into months, Alisa began to feel safer and more confident that she and her husband were going to be left alone. Erik had returned to work at the Opera House and ordered his servants to move into his mansion instead of living away from it. His excuse was that since Alisa now lived there and was mistress of the place, she would need their help keep the estate in order. In reality, Erik was imagining little Garnier's running around the place and filling the air with their laughter and games, the staff keeping an eye on them. Alisa had nervously laughed at the idea, but not long after the honeymoon, she realized that Erik had been right to act as he had.

Six months to the day, right on the six-month anniversary of their wedding, Alisa announced that she was pregnant. Erik, after spending so much time alone in his life, was nearly bursting with pride at becoming a father. He took constant pictures of his wife during her pregnancy, printing them out and showing them to everyone he came in contact with, announcing that _he_ was to be a father.

Of course, everyone working and/or living in the Opera House was thrilled with the fact that their boss was going to be a father. They had seen the way Monsieur Garnier had stared at young couples in love, or at families with tiny children who visited the Opera House to learn about it. Some of the Opera House mothers had even let him play with their little ones, and they were now thrilled that he was about to have children of his own.

It wasn't until a small box appeared on Erik's desk that he realized that, in his excitement about his marriage and upcoming child, he had nearly forgotten something important. There was no indication of who it was from, and upon opening it, he saw that it was a little white wooden rattle with yellow roses engraved onto it. Inside the box, Erik found a small piece of paper with two words written on it.

**_Forgive me_**.

Realizing who it was from, Erik made a decision.

* * *

It's ironic, really, how life can turn out, one twisted man finally finding happiness, but only at the expense of another man's hope for love and joy. Once he had been the one to lose the woman he loved; this time, over a century later, it was his turn to rob a man of the woman he thought would end his torment. 

Sighing, Erik left the envelope, the light, and the red leather case in the passageway and left, praying that he had done the right thing.

* * *

Another day had come, and still the ache had not diminished. He knew that she had wedded, and from the rumors drifting around upstairs, she was due to have a child in less than six months. His hope of finding someone to understand him and see past his face was gone, vanished along with his love. How Garnier had managed to find the underground caves so quickly was beyond him, but it had happened. Alisa was gone, safely tucked away in a country estate and far out of his reach. He knew that there would never be another like her in his life. 

In his heart, he knew he had been wrong to act as he did. Love could not be forced, but it had been _so long_ since someone had held him and smiled at him without fear. Only his parents had loved him, and he had thought that perhaps, one day, Alisa might love him as they had. Now that hope was gone, and he was alone. Sighing, his shoulders slumped as he headed upstairs, hoping to see what performance was going to be practiced today.

A light in the middle of the path made him stop in his tracks. Was someone else down here? Had Garnier come to finish off his rival, even though it was no longer necessary? The light wasn't moving, though, and it was low, as though it were lying on the ground. Creeping forward, he saw a flashlight lying on top of an envelope, the two objects in turn lying on top of a red leather case. Curiosity won over caution and he approached, picking up the envelope and tearing it open.

* * *

_**Monsieur,**_

**_It is against my better judgment to do this, but I feel that, from one lonely soul to another, this gesture will help ease your suffering. Whether you believe in magic or not, the document contained within the red case is just that: a document containing the copy of a magic spell. I myself performed this exact spell many years ago, nearly a lifetime ago, it seems, and it has proven true; the woman who smiles at me with love in her eyes every moment of the day is proof of that. My Alisa, my wife and the mother of my child, is what the spell promised me when I first cast it: the other half of my heart and soul. I now grant this to you in the hopes that you find happiness, love, and warmth to last the rest of your life._**

_**Yours truly,**_

_**Erik Garnier**_

* * *

Staring at the letter, he wondered if this was some kind of trick. A magic spell? Did Garnier think he was a fool to fall for some childish fantasy? For all he knew, there could be some sort of explosive hidden inside the case and this was all a plot of Garnier's to finish him off! Taking another look at the case, he realized that it was far too small and thin to hold anything dangerous. Would it hurt to look inside and see what was there?

Shrugging, he bent down and picked up the flashlight, putting the letter aside before undoing the clasps on the side of the case with his free hand. Ever-so-slowly, he opened it, shining the flashlight inside to see if anything odd was in there. All that lay inside was a flat piece of paper, the handwriting simple and elegantly written out. Reaching inside, he picked up the paper and began to read it.

'_It's a bunch of rhyming nonsense_,' he thought, tempted to crumple the paper and throw it away.

However, something stopped him from doing so. Would it really hurt to act out a 'magic spell,' just to have a little fun doing it? After all, he'd never really 'played pretend' as a child, so why not indulge in this sort of thing just once?

Picking up the papers, case, and flashlight, he headed down to his home by the lake.

* * *

The young woman sighed and tapped her cane about, trying to figure out where in the world she was. "I can't seriously be lost! I counted the steps, I should be back at the manager's office!" she retorted. "This is silly. Monsieur Garnier will be sure to fire me because of this, and I just got hired, too!" 

Someone cleared their throat near her left elbow. "Are you lost, _mademoiselle_?" The voice was male, and a little cold, but still kindly, in a strange sort of way.

Vanessa turned and gave a cheerful smile. "I'm afraid so," she said, feeling a blush climb up into her cheeks. "Do you know where the manager's office is?"

"I'm afraid you've passed it," the stranger replied. "And Monsieur Garnier has already left; his wife has gone into labor and is at the hospital, so he rushed to join her there."

"Oh, drat!" she said, frowning. "I was going to ask where he was housing me. I've already brought all of my clothes, and my rent is up on my apartment, so now I've no place to go!"

An awkward silence filled her ears, and she heard the man shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. "I have a certain access to Monsieur Garnier's documents," the man replied. "Would you like me to find out where your rooms are and escort you to them?"

"Oh, that would be wonderful," she replied with a smile.

Patiently, Vanessa listened as the man walked off and opened a door, presumably the one that lead to the manager's office. A moment later, the door shut and footsteps approached.

"You have been housed near the ballerinas," he said. "I hope you enjoy loud noises and giggling."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "No, not really," she muttered. "I prefer peace and quiet."

The stranger was silent for a moment. "Would you…like to stay with me?"

Suspicious as to this man's generousity, Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "Well, first of all, who are you?" she asked. "And secondly, where do you live?"

He chuckled. "My name is Damon," he said. "And I live in a very…_unique_ place at the Opera House."

"Oh, really?" she asked, her interest peaked. "_Where_, exactly?"

"Below it, actually…a few levels down, so it is very quiet."

In spite of herself, Vanessa found herself drawn to this man. She may not be able to see, but when something inside her said to trust someone, she usually listened. Right now, her heart was practically screaming for her to go with this man, not because she _wanted_ to, but because he _needed_ her to. Cocking her head, she lifted her eyes to look up, right where she guessed his face should be.

Feeling her gaze on him, Damon shifted from one foot to another. "I hope that my appearance does not…trouble you at all."

"Looks hardly matter to a blind girl," she retorted sarcastically. "So if you are concerned about me seeing your ugly mole or horrid teeth, then don't bother."

A soft chuckle came from his direction. "Then will you join me?" he asked. "I hope you do not mind cool places."

"Better too cold than too warm," Vanessa replied as she felt his arm around her. "It's easier to warm up than it is to cool down." Realizing how dirty that must sound, she blushed. "Sorry, I hope that wasn't too forward or inappropriate."

"On the contrary, I find it rather amusing." His arm tightened around her, though it felt more protective than hurtful. "Now, how does a nice evening tea by a fire sound?"

* * *

Taking a quick break from paperwork, Erik stared at the picture on his computer. The beaming faces of his lovely wife and five-month-old son looked back at him. Suddenly, his e-mail alert flashed. Another picture came into view, this one of a man in a full mask and his petite blonde companion filling the screen; they appeared to be in London. On the bottom of the photo was a message. 

**_Thank you for helping me with my solitude. Now I believe in magic. -Yours, Damon and Vanessa_**

Smiling, Erik sat back and sighed contentedly.

* * *

AN: Happy ending! I'm a sucker for those. Thanks for reading, everyone and keep an eye open for my newest fic, coming out soon! Review, please! 


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